


Harry Potter and the Craptastic Polyjuice Scheme!

by SaraStarchild



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack Fic, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Occlumency, Snape speaks in italics, nerdfighter references abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraStarchild/pseuds/SaraStarchild
Summary: Two Harry Potters - identical to each other - are duelling on top of the astronomy tower. Severus Snape enters the scene, a broken golden snitch in hand, sobbing. These are the events leading up to that moment.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 61-page Harry Potter crack fic I wrote from May 31st to July 21st in 2010 - when I was sixteen years old. There are definitely some bits that I needed to change, so I changed them and I'm gonna be posting chapters over the next few months (weeks? idk)  
> So here we go.

Two Harry Potters were in a disagreement of all disagreements. As the thunder clapped in the distance and as the lightning flashed, you could see the silhouettes of the two Potters. One was in his Gryffindor Quidditch Robes, broom in hand – his eyes tore away from the other Potter boy (just to tell these apart, lets name him Harry) to glance around just behind Harry’s head, searching the for the golden walnut that was the Snitch. But, after a moment, Potter’s eyes returned to Harry’s gaze of pure hatred. Harry was in his regular School Robes, wand in hand, ready to use any curse that came to his head at any moment. As he glared at Potter, he thought to use the Cruciatus Curse on this other Harry Potter. Even though they were both much older, they both looked eleven years of age.

“You’re WRONG!” Harry said, taking a swift step forward, sending Potter one step backwards, closer to the edge of the Astrology Tower.

“But I’m sure I’m –” Potter started, now entirely focused on Harry and not on his quest for the snitch.

“NO! Don’t even say anything – you fool!” he shouted, raising his wand. Potter flinched in fear, as if he knew of Harry’s plans. “FIGHT! FIGHT! I COMMAND YOU!” Harry screamed, making a quick change of plans. “ _IMPERIO!”_ he shouted, pointing his wand at his twin. Potter raised his broom above his head, about to bash Harry’s head in with it. “FIGHT!!!” Harry shouted again, and with a swift move of his wand, the broom came down. Lower and lower, closer and closer to Harry’s head, until –

“STOP!” There was a voice, and Harry’s focus on the curse was lost, and Potter stood motionless, his broom about a foot from Harry’s head. They both looked to the source of the voice – towards the door. There was a man with a fairly large nose and black hair and robes, on his knees, staring at the two boys, sobbing. Something appeared to be in his hands. He opened his cupped hands and Potter gasped audibly, as Harry just stared. The golden Snitch laid in his hands, both wings broken. The man looked up at the two Harry Potters, his black eyes searching, looking like they could pierce through theirs. “What – _what_ have I _done?”_ Severus Snape sobbed.


	2. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'm gonna post a new chapter of this fic every week.  
> There's a point where Harry, Ron, and Hermione are passing notes in class, so here's a key: Harry's in bold, Hermione's in italics, and Ron's underlined.  
> Also since I'm trying to keep the original copy as edit-free as possible, some of the cringe-worthy things I said back in 2010 are going to stay in the fic. Laugh if you want.

_TWO WEEKS EARLIER_

 

There’s those fancy italics, again…

Harry Potter (or, as we knew him before, Potter) walked into his potions class exactly twenty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds late; Hermione was keeping track on her watch.

“Late _again,_ I see, Mr. _Potter_. Deten–” Harry cut Snape off mid-sentence, waving a small piece of paper in his face.

“I have a pass, Professor,” Harry contradicted him.

Snape, glaring at Harry, took the pass. He glanced at it, smirking.

“This is _obviously_ forged. I’ve seen _your_ handwriting and the _headmaster’s_ handwriting enough to tell the _difference_ , Mr. Potter. Sometimes I _wonder_ exactly _how_ stupid you think I _am_.” (Harry rolled his eyes at Snape’s use of italics.) “ _Detention_ for the rest of the _week_ , and…Miss _Granger?”_

A girl’s head snapped up. Her bushy, curly hair fell on her face, and she pushed them away. She looked guilty, for whatever reason, and only Harry and Snape really knew why.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked, even though she knew what he was going to ask of her.

“How _late_ is Mr. Potter _today_?” Snape asked coolly.

“I – I don’t know, Sir, I wasn’t paying attention…” her voice drifted off. Harry sighed. She was always a terrible liar. And Snape knew this too. He eyed Hermione suspiciously for about fifteen seconds before the pressure became too much. “Twenty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, Sir,” she revealed in defeat.

Harry sighed. _Thanks, Hermione,_ he thought before returning his attention back to Snape.

“ _Right_ then. So that makes that… _Two_ thousand, _three_ hundred, thirty- _seven_ points from Gryffindor, then…” he decided. All the Gryffindors in the class groaned audibly. This brought them to a whomping negative one thousand, one hundred, ninety-seven points for the House Cup. But, on the other hand, this brought Slytherin up to first place for the tournament. Draco Malfoy, a tall, blond-haired boy in the back of the room, tipping his chair so far back that the back of the chair was against the wall, extended his hands on either side of him towards his posse, Crabbe and Goyle. The lumbering thick heads high-fived Malfoy, and he crossed his arms again, smirking at Harry. Harry scowled back at him. “SHUT _UP_ , all of you!” Snape shouted. “Mr. Potter, to your _seat,_ ” he ordered, pointing at the purposely vacant seat between Hermione and his other best friend, Ron, who had red hair and precisely 43 freckles on his face alone (in which Harry and Hermione had counted and tried connecting one night in their first year). Harry sat down between them.

Hermione passed a note to Harry:

_Harry, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to watch the clock – it just kind of happened! :(_

Harry was just about to write back and tell her that it was alright, but then Ron stole the note from under his hand and scribbled something to her, and she wrote back to him angrily. As Ron was reading, Harry stole the note and read what he missed:

Well it should STOP “just kind of happening”, Hermione! You just cost us the House Cup – AGAIN. It’s our SIXTH year and we haven’t won it once! How about you PAY ATTENTION in class and not on how late Harry is!?

_I’m sorry, RONALD, but it gives me something to do, seeing as I KNOW all of this ALREADY…_  

With a sigh, Harry wrote himself into their argument:

**MAN you guys bicker like a married couple… No wonder you guys are dating… LOL, JK. XD But seriously, you guys DO realize you can sit next to each other, right?**

He sat back, letting them know that his response was for both of them, and that the act of responding back to him was fair game to either of them. Hermione was the first one to scribble on the parchment:

_Yes, but we don’t want you to feel left out, that’s all…_

With an edge of bitterness, Harry wrote back:

**That’s never stopped you before – like when you guys are snogging in the common room while I’M trying to figure out how to do my homework…**

Ron was the first one to respond this time, and then the conversation went smoothly from there:

YOU do HOMEWORK?! I thought Hermione was the only one who did that! LOL, JK, baby! <3 But still, Harry, if you’re all mad and stuff about being third wheel, why don’t you just TELL US? Or LEAVE?

**Cause you don’t OWN the common room, Ron. I think I have the right to sit out there if I want to… Just as you two have the right to eat each other’s faces. XD**

_Har, Har. Very funny, Harry._

OH SNAP SHE SAID HAR, HAR!!! SOME SERIOUS SHIT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!!

**XD DUCK AND COVER, RON, DUCK AND COVER!!!**

_*Dramatic sigh* You guys are SO not funny. Like, at all. So, Harry, WAS that pass forged? Again? What charm did you try THIS time?_

**ACTUALLY, Hermione, that pass was NOT forged; Dumbledore DID sign it. I was up in his office again, btw.**

_What were you doing there?_

**Well, if you REALLY want to know, I was just having a civilized conversation with the Sorting Hat and**

Hermione suddenly stole the paper out of Harry’s hands and scribbled feverishly on it before returning it to him:

_Ugh not THIS again! Harry, we’ve just established that it’s SIXTH YEAR. You told the Sorting Hat you DIDN’T WANT TO BE IN SLYTHERIN. So, it put you into GRYFFINDOR, and the Sorting Hat NEVER makes mistakes. YOU. ARE. A. GRYFFINDOR._

**Look, I was just making sure that he didn’t sneeze or something in the middle of saying “Hufflepuff” and for whatever reason it came out “Gryffindor”…**

HUFFLEPUFF?! You wanted to make sure he didn’t put you in HUFFLEPUFF?! Harry, EVERYONE knows that “You would be in Hufflepuff” is the worst insult ever; next to a rejected high-five! YOU CAN’T BE IN HUFFLEPUFF; YOU’RE TOO AWESOME FOR HUFFLEPUFF!!!

_Ron, that’s mean! I know quite a few “awesome” people in Hufflepuff. Take Cedric Diggory, for instance…_

Yeah but Cedric’s DEAD, Hermione! NO ONE ELSE in Hufflepuff was as cool as Cedric! I mean, HARRY’S the coolest kid in HOGWARTS in GENERAL, but if we just look at the Hufflepuffs, CEDRIC was the most popular guy there!

**Ok, ok, fine. I’m not supposed to be in Hufflepuff…**

_Why are you so obsessed with trying to get out of Gryffindor lately, anyway, Harry?_

It wasn’t that Harry was TRYING to get out of Gryffindor – he greatly enjoyed being a Gryffindor. But…something was missing in his life. It was hard to explain, especially to Hermione and Ron. He was losing something…Like, his sense of adventure or something…  Maybe, his worst nightmare was coming true… He was becoming… A COWARD. *Dramatic music*

Suddenly, the hour was up. Unable to answer this question, he shoved the note into his bag, along with his potions book and stood up.

“Shit!” Hermione hissed. “What was the homework?!” she asked Harry and Ron. They both shrugged. She turned to Professor Snape, who, at the moment, had his back turned to her, scolding Neville Longbottom for something that was (OBVIOUSLY) stupid, and opened her mouth to ask. Not wanting her to get in trouble, Ron spoke over her.

“Professor Snape, Sir?” Ron asked. Snape turned, Neville looked at Ron as if he was his personal savior. _Poor Neville, getting his hopes up so far…_ Harry couldn’t help but think.

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked.

“Erm…what was the homework again?” Ron asked.

“ _Well_ , Mr. Weasley, if you three were _paying attention in class_ you three would _know_ what the homework was, _wouldn’t_ you?” He smirked. “ _So_ , Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you will be _joining_ Mr. Potter _and_ Mr. Longbottom in _detention_ tonight at six o’clock. _Now_ , the four of you should get to your next class…” And with that, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville ran out of the classroom.

“I hate Snape!” Neville whispered as soon as they were out of ear-shot. Harry noticed that Neville was shaking in fear. “He – He’s horrible!” Hermione looked at Neville worryingly; she could see that he was shaking too. Or maybe she was just afraid of her first-ever detention.

“Psh, guys, lighten up a bit,” Ron said, putting his arm around Hermione. “Detentions are pretty fun, actually…”

“FUN?!” Hermione shrieked. Harry was pretty sure that, up until that moment, Hermione had a firm belief that the words “detention” and “fun” could not be in the same sentence.

“Chill, Hermione. Come on, think about it. The four of us, in detention together, doing absolutely nothing but cleaning cauldrons. Hey, Harry, you remember that time we hid inside the cauldrons and Snape had to call Filch in to help find us in our second year?”

“Good times, good times,” Harry recounted, smiling. “Unfortunately, I think we’re a little too big to hide in said cauldrons…”

“Not to mention too _old,”_ Hermione reminded them. Leave it to her to remind them that they were no longer twelve, therefore too old to act like immature idiots. Harry sighed.

“At least I don’t have to face Snape alone…” Neville said gratefully.

“Yeah, but we’re not always gonna be there to help you face your boggart, Nev–” Ron started.

“BOGGART!? WHERE?!” In an instant, Neville had whipped out his wand and started waving it around at anything that moved, trying to find the boggart.

“Neville, Nev-NEVILLE!” Harry shouted as Neville started casting random spells into random directions, screaming incantations on the top of his lungs:

“ _RIDDIKULUS! EXEPLLIARMUS! RICTUSEMPRA! LUMOS!_ ” Neville screamed.

“NEVILLE!” Harry shouted, grabbing Neville’s wand and pulling it out of his hands. Neville stood, panting. “Ok, next time Neville has an anxiety attack, take away his wand BEFORE he freaks out and throws random spells around! And NEVER mention the word B-O-G-G-A-R-T around him!” He turned to stare at Ron pointedly, but found him doubled-over, laughing hysterically. “RON, why are you laughing at Neville?!”

“It’s not Neville he’s laughing at, Harry!” Hermione explained, smiling. “He got hit by Neville’s _Rictusempra!_ It’s a tickling charm!”

“MAKE IT STOP!” Ron pleaded with no one in particular, laughing so hard he was tearing up.

Harry raised his wand.

 _“Finite Incantatem!”_ He said coolly, and Ron, who was now lying on his back on the floor, stopped laughing and caught his breath.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said as soon as he was done panting for air.

“Good job, Harry! Did I teach that one to you?” Hermione asked.

“Nah, I’ve just heard it thrown around a few times and for whatever reason it stopped all spells. So I guessed that it was a master counter curse or something…”

Hermione’s eyebrows went up, impressed.

“Well, I’m impressed with you, Harry,” she said. “Even though that _was_ kind of dangerous…”

Ron shrugged.

“It’s fine; as long as I’m not being tickled to death or puking up slugs I’m okay with it,” he said, getting up.

“What if he made your spleen burst or something?” she asked, worriedly.

“There’s a spell for that?” all three boys asked.

“Well…no…I don’t think so, at least…I’m gonna go to the library; see if there _is_ a spell to do that…” Hermione said, and then ran off.

Ron and Harry looked at each other. Did Hermione _seriously_ just not know a _spell?_ Of course, she was bad with the Patronus Charm…but at least she _knew_ about it…

“Is there one?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, but if there is, I’m gonna keep a special eye on my spleen…” Harry shrugged. He looked at Neville’s wand in his hand, and then back up at Neville. “Can I give this back to you?” he asked.

Neville nodded, reaching out for it.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I was just scared, that’s all…”

Harry shrugged, putting it in Neville’s outstretched hand.

“It’s ok, as long as you don’t start shouting anything harmful like the unforgiveable curses or something…”

“Oh, I’d never!” Neville whispered gravely, holding his wand up to his chest. Harry had forgotten that Neville was a bit more sensitive about the unforgiveable curses than himself; his parents were at St. Mungos for being under the Cruciatus Curse to the point of insanity…

“Right. Sorry…” Harry mumbled awkwardly.

“So. Neville, where are we going next?” Ron asked, trying to ease the awkwardness a bit, even though they all knew where they were going.

“Herbology!” he exclaimed happily as the three started walking to the grounds. “I’m so excited – we’re learning about _Enchanted Snapdragons_ today! I was doing some reading last night, and I read that they’re _so_ big that if you put your hand up to their mouth they could bite your hand off and just eat it all whole; so be careful!”

“Perfect,” Ron sighed. “I’m gonna be reaching for my wand or something and then my hand will get chewed off!”

“But that’s why you’ve got to be careful, Ron! But don’t worry – there are _also_ a certain type of _gloves_ that you have to wear so the Enchanted Snapdragons don’t just eat your fingers off one by one; I’m sure Professor Sprout will have _loads_ of pairs!”

“Speaking of Professors…You know what I find insanely funny? Snape’s use of italics,” Harry said, changing the subject from what he didn’t know about (plants) to something he DID know about (the use of italics to emphasize a thought).

“I’ll say!” Ron agreed. “He put an emphasis on _every other word!_ He was like, _‘Today_ we will _make_ a _foreshadowing potion;_ so we can _discove_ r if _someone_ is _foreshadowing something…’_ It was _so_ unnecessary!”

“I’ve been starting to think he was born with it…” Neville voiced his opinion quietly, as if he was afraid of being wrong.

“You mean to _say_ he was _born_ using _italics_ on almost _everything_ he _says?”_ Ron asked.

“I don’t know but whatever it is it must be contagious for you have it, Ron,” Harry laughed.

“NO!!! IT’S CONTAGIOUS!!! DISINFECTANT!!! DISINFECTANT!!!” he shouted. “I DON’T WANNA BE LIKE SNAPE!!!”

“No one does! ‘LOOK AT ME I’M SNAPE I’M GONNA DIE COLD AND ALONE!!!’” Harry mimicked his least favorite professor.

“‘AND I MADE OUT WITH HARRY’S MOM SEVEN TIMES!!!’” Neville laughed, joining in on Harry’s mockery.

Harry and Ron stopped laughing immediately.

“Neville?” Harry asked coolly.

“Yes?” Neville asked, even though he knew he was in deep shit.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he warned him in the same calm tone, shaking his head, as if scolding Neville.

“I’m sorry,” Neville hung his head apologetically.

“It’s ok; just don’t do it again. Now; Herbology,” Harry said, once again changing the subject (he was beginning to think he had a knack for this).

“Herbology!” Neville echoed excitedly.

“Herbology…” Ron echoed unenthusiastically, and then the three set off to their class, as Neville rambled on and on about what he had read about Enchanted Snapdragons the night before…

As Neville had predicted, Professor Sprout _did_ have said gloves that protected the students’ hands from being gnawed off by the Enchanted Snapdragons. Even though these gloves were exceptionally heavy, Harry and Ron cared more about their fingers than the outstanding weight that had appeared on their hands. Draco Malfoy, of course, trying to look bad ass in front of the Slytherin girls, neglected his gloves, gaining a great amount of bite marks on his hands. Harry, by the way, found this to be very amusing; especially when Draco screamed like a girl when his Enchanted Snapdragon bit him especially hard.

Yet the rest of the day seemed to fly by. Once they had returned to the Common Room, Hermione revealed that there _was_ in fact a spell to make your spleen burst. It was _Splendidus Praemium_ … So Ron and Harry decided it would be best if they confiscated her wand and hid it in Harry’s underwear drawer (where Hermione didn’t dare venture to), and, of course, she returned the favor to them. She would have to retrieve their wands from the girl’s Dormitory _after_ their detention. So, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville walked down to the dungeons with only overly-anxious Neville with his wand…

Pleasant.

At exactly six o’clock, Harry knocked on Professor Snape’s office door (for everyone else was afraid to). Snape opened it a crack not a moment later.

“Come _in_ …” he said, and the four Gryffindors piled their way in. The caldrons were already set up for them; four piles containing about twenty-five cauldrons each.

“I am giving you _five hours,_ ” Snape said, almost with an instructing sort of tone. “I want _all_ of these polished by _eleven o’clock tonight_. If you _fail_ to complete this task, you will be _joining_ me for another five hours _tomorrow night_ until your job is _done_. _Understood_?” Everyone nodded. “Good. And Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley…” Harry and Ron looked up. “There will be no _hiding_ from this punishment. _Capiche_?”

“Is that a spell?” Harry asked, and Snape rolled his eyes and stalked off.

Scrubbing cauldrons was not the greatest thing in the world. Hermione broke a nail, Neville cried about it for her, and Ron lost the game…and so did you. Harry, on the other hand, was going over the Quidditch team’s plans for this coming game in two weeks. Yes, they were ALREADY practicing almost every night. Practice would have to be earlier, though, for Harry now had detention for the next week…and there was no way in hell that Slytherin was going to get extra practice time. Thank god Dumbledore favored Gryffindors over Slytherins… _Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, right?_ Harry thought as the door to the office opened.

Dumbledore, dressed in purple robes, entered the room. The four Gryffindors looked up, marveling at his majestic beauty (you know, for all the majestic beauty an old man could have) as he strode into the room. Harry caught himself wondering for the umpteenth time why a man as old as Dumbledore could walk without a cane, yet a man as young as Lucius Malfoy needed one. How old was Lucius, anyway? Thirty-five? Forty? Harry was sure that he didn’t need this cane. Of course, it did hide is wand… But, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided in their second year, the main reason Lucius Malfoy carried a cane with him was to hit small children and animals.

Anyway, back to Dumbledore…

He strode in. Without breaking stride, he smiled at the four Gryffindors and winked. Neville half-smiled back and then went back to cleaning, showing general respect to his headmaster. But Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s eyes followed Dumbledore as he walked up to Snape’s desk. As he did, he took a letter out of an inside pocket of his robes. He handed it to Snape as he spoke in his old, withered voice.

“Good evening Professor Snape,” he said cheerfully.

“ _What_ is _this_?” he asked, flicking his wrist to wave the letter.

“Well, I was on my way to the lavatory when I accidentally stumbled upon a room full of chocolate frogs. And when I say full, of course, I mean the floor was covered with them. If I meant full, like floor-to-ceiling-and-wall-to-wall full, I wouldn’t be able to get into the room. Which I did. So I went in, neglecting to close the door. I was in the middle of my eighth chocolate frog when I looked towards the door for the first time that night. And, lo and behold, a stygian owl was sitting in the doorway. It was just sitting there, Severus, staring at me. I also noticed it had a letter in his beak. So I got up (for I was sitting on the floor with my chocolate frogs, you see), and approached the owl. The owl, who was a very nice owl, I think, handed me the letter and then after eating a small, dead bat from my pocket, flew away. Yet I failed to notice that this was addressed to you until after the owl’s departure. But I’m glad it came to me, for I know how much you hate owls flying into your office. So, after a brief visit to the nearest bathroom, which was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom (why do they call her _Moaning_ Myrtle, anyway? Any student with any sort of perverted mind would think she was doing something _other than_ crying in there, don’t you agree?), and her and I had a brief conversation about how I should really give Peeves the Poltergeist the boot out of Hogwarts (which I disagree with, by the way. What’s a castle without a poltergeist?), and then I came down here to the dungeons with this letter to give to you. So here I am,” he explained, shrugging.

After this story, Harry had a lot of things to say, such as: “Room full of chocolate frogs? Where? I want some chocolate frogs! Eight chocolate frogs?! RON can’t even eat eight chocolate frogs, and he eats the most out of any of us! And you’re so thin! Where do you put it all? A stygian owl? What’s that? I mean, I know it’s an owl, but I’ve never heard of one before. A dead bat? How did you know that stygian owls like dead bats? And where did you get a dead bat? Why did the owl go to you and not to Snape? And how can YOU have a civilized conversation with Moaning Myrtle and I can’t? Every other word she says to me is something flirtatious! Which WOULD make me suggest that the “moaning” in Moaning Myrtle doesn’t mean crying! And I agree with you! I mean, sure, Peeves can be a pain in the ass, sometimes, but what’s a castle without a poltergeist? That’s right; JUST a castle! And why can’t you give ME every last detail when we’re talking about Voldemort?!” But before he could say any of these things, Snape was already on one of the more important questions in Harry’s mind.

“ _Where_ did you get a _dead bat_?” he asked.

“Oh! Funny story about that one, I do believe! You see, today in a sixth-year transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall was teaching her students how to transfigure a fruit bat into a baseball bat. It was going really well, I believe, until… –”

Suddenly, Neville stood up and, avoiding everyone’s eyes, ran out of the room, only muttering the word, “Bathroom,” as he went. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exchanged knowing looks. Neville was the one that killed the bat.

Dumbledore looked at the three Gryffindors.

“Did Mr. Longbottom…?” he asked, finding no reason to complete his sentence.

“Yes,” the three chorused, nodding.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I probably just made him feel horrible.”

The three now exchanged worried looks.

“Should I go –” Hermione asked.

“No, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I didn’t know he was hardcore enough to kill a bat – a snake, maybe, but never a bat...”

A snake? Why a snake? Harry now wished he had paid attention to Snape’s lecture about the foreshadowing potion…

Dumbledore turned back to Snape.

“This _better_ not be a _joke_ like the _April Fool’s trick_ you pulled on me the _first_ year I taught here,” Snape warned.

“Of course not! I learned my lesson! Writing you a love letter was not the best joke... But, it’s not even April!” he laughed reassuringly. Snape’s face remained the same scowl it had been in for the past…well, it’s been that way forever. “But, back to the subject of the stygian owl. I’ve researched _every_ owl that comes in and out of Hogwarts, including where their habitats are. It turns out that the stygian owl hails from South America. Do you have family there, Snape?”

“Fuck,” Snape whispered, tearing the envelope open. He read the first few lines. “ _Shit,_ ” he whispered.

“Who’s it from?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“None of _your_ business!” Snape snapped. “Everyone get out! _Now!”_

In a flash, the room was empty.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were about to run to the bathroom where Neville was most likely at, when Dumbledore called Harry’s name. He turned around.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked.

“Would you mind coming to my office tomorrow night?” he asked.

“But Sir, I’ve got detention all this week…” Harry said sadly.

“What about at midnight tomorrow night?” he asked, using the same tone.

“But I’ll be sleeping…” Harry almost whined.

“So, tomorrow night at midnight, then?” Dumbledore asked, smiling.

“Tomorrow at midnight…” Harry sighed. Obviously sleeping < meetings with Dumbledore.

Then the three Gryffindors ran to Neville, who was in the bathroom, mid-anxiety-attack. He was in fetal position under the sinks. When he saw his friends enter, he didn’t move, and they kneeled down around him.

“He knew it was me! I’m in so much trouble!” he whispered, scared.

“No you’re not, Neville. Dumbledore didn’t say anything like that,” Hermione said soothingly. Hermione sounded so innocent when she was trying to soothe Neville’s nerves…

“I didn’t mean to kill it…” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to mispronounce the spell…”

“We know, Neville. We know,” Harry said, still wondering about Dumbledore’s snake comment…

* * *

Snape sat, scowling at his newly-received letter. It was from his twin brother that he denied having: Sanpe. He was Snape’s complete opposite; Blond hair, blue eyes, always smiling, never mean, and...dare he say it? _Living in Brazil._

Yet, despite his hatred of his brother, he read the note anyway:

 

Hi, Severus! :)

How have you been? And how’s England been? I miss England…barely! Lol!

So, I’ve been hearing that Voldemort’s back in England. Makes you wish you moved, eh? Oh, wait. You’re a, as you say, “double agent” of Voldemort and Dumbledore. Never mind. ^^; How is Voldemort, anyway? I mean, nothing HUGE has been going on with him, other than his return. You should pay him a visit, see if he’s planning on doing anything evil lately… And if he isn’t, you could help him brainstorm! And then invite him to dinner or something! :)

I’ve got to go, little Maria’s learning how to walk and I can’t miss that again! I love you!

Your brother,

Sanpe Snape

 

For once, Snape didn’t hate his brother as much as he normally did. Sanpe actually gave his brother a good idea. Maybe he could go to Voldemort’s secret lair (which was under a strip club at the moment) and see what his plans were, and see where he could help (or tattle to Dumbledore about it). Even though it was about nine o’clock at night, and normally Snape would be sleeping at this time (unless his students had a detention to serve), he took out a piece of parchment and started to scribble on it, when a great horned owl swooped into the room. Snape was surprised the door was open a crack all of this time, but he took the parchment from the owl nonetheless. He unfolded the parchment (which seemed to be a scrap from a Muggle newspaper) and read what it said:

 

The Dark Lord requests your presence at his lair as soon as you get this notice. You know where it is. No flirting this time.

\- Bellatrix Lestrange

 

Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort’s personal bitch/secretary/torturer. Of course it would be her to send this to him and not Voldemort himself. Actually, no one had ever seen Voldemort’s handwriting. Snape reread the last sentence. What did she mean by “no flirting this time?” No flirting with her, no flirting with the strippers, or no flirting with Voldemort? He had done all three… He shrugged. He just had to be careful this time, that was all.

He stood up, and without any other distractions, he Disapparated. Even though no one could Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts, Snape was given special privileges, being the special agent and all. So he Disapparated away to Voldemort’s secret lair.

* * *

He Apparated to a Muggle strip club in London. He knew he should have just Apparated below it, to the secret lair, but “flirting” and “looking” were two different things. He walked up to a door, where a “bouncer,” as the Muggles would call it, was guarding the door. But he wasn’t a Muggle. He was Antonin Dolohov. They shook their left hands.

“He wanted to speak with you, Severus.”

“I _know_. Bellatrix _told_ me. Any idea what it’s _about_?” he asked.

“None. Good luck, Severus.”

“Thank you, _Antonin,_ ” Snape said, and they let go. Snape then walked past him and into the strip club.

Girls. Were. Everywhere. Most of them were topless, others had really skimpy bikinis on, and about a quarter of them were on the poles. Men were throwing money at them. Snape smiled. If he wasn’t more of an intimate type, this would be his kind of place.

The second thing he noticed was the music. It was loud, annoying Muggle music; something Snape wouldn't be caught dead listening to on his own time. Yet, being here so many times, he could recognize the artist: the Spice Girls.

Moving on…

He happened to make a sideways glance up to the pole dancers and saw a woman with no top on. She had long, red hair. The hair alone was so familiar to him. Could it be her? It seemed impossible for it to be her, but he wanted to make sure. He changed his direction almost completely and started to walk towards the poles. He pushed his way past the men who were already there, getting as close as possible to the red head. Even though her breasts where…well, hard-to-miss, he studied her eyes. He needed the color of them. He waited for her face to turn to the crowd again. As she did, licking her lips suggestively, he found that her eyes were…blue. Pale blue. Shit. It wasn’t her. But, of course it wasn’t. She was long dead…

Snape turned away and started walking to the door that was marked Do Not Enter. Of course, he was going to enter it.

About halfway there, a tall, very tanned woman with mahogany-colored hair and eyes stopped him. In about three seconds, she was all over him.

“Hey there, big boy,” she crooned sensually. “You look like you could use a good time…” she said, winking.

 _“Unless_ you mean a _rousing_ game of _chess_ I’ll have to _decline_ your _offer,”_ he denied her quickly, squirming away from her grip on his robes. She pouted, but then she strutted away.

Then Snape ran for the door. He did not have a fear of girls. But, after seeing what he thought was Lily Evans, he didn’t want to see any woman’s face other than hers. When he reached the door, he stood there for a moment, surveying the room. No one could see him enter the room that clearly stated that no one was allowed in. When he knew the coast was clear, he opened the door and snuck in.

The room was pitch black. But Snape, being here so many times before, knew that this room was not a room at all but a staircase, leading down to Voldemort’s secret lair. He took out his wand.

“ _Lumos!_ ” he whispered, and the staircase could now be seen. He started climbing down.

The stone staircase led him a long way down. Sometimes Snape wondered just _how_ far underground the staircase led him. One hundred feet? More than that? The only person who knew that for sure was Voldemort himself.

Finally, he reached the bottom of the staircase. There were now torches on the walls, the flames illuminating the hallway that Snape was now in.

“ _Nox,_ ” he whispered, and the light on his wand that he no longer needed went out.

“Severus?” There was a voice that Snape recognized to be Lucius Malfoy’s.

“I _thought_ it was _Fenrir_ _’s_ shift tonight,” Snape stated.

“It was. Called in sick. I think it’s a full moon tonight,” Lucius said, giving Snape his left hand to shake.

“Did you lock _Draco_ up?” Snape said jokingly as he took Lucius’s hand in his.

“He’s in that fucking school; Fenrir can’t get in there,” he said, letting go.

 _“Touché,”_ Snape nodded. “Any _idea_ what the Dark Lord wants me _for?”_

“None. He said it was important, though,” Lucius shrugged. “Let’s go.”

So Lucius led Snape down the long, narrow hallway to Voldemort’s room – the only room in the lair (other than the bathroom). As they reached the door, they could hear Bellatrix screaming.

“Just say it! I know you want to! Say it! See if I give a shit!” she yelled.

“Fine!” Voldemort screamed back. “I’ll say it! I’ll say it for the whole _world_ to hear! Quirinus was better! That’s right; QUIRINUS QUIRRELL WAS BETTER!” he announced.

“He’s DEAD, Voldy! _I’M_ here now!” Bellatrix screeched.

“I don’t _CARE_ , Bella! I love him, I’ve always loved him, and I _WANT HIM BACK!”_ Voldemort shouted.

“Good luck with that, then! Even _YOU_ can’t bring back the _dead!_ But I’d like to see you try! And when you try – when you _FAIL_ , you’ll just come _CRAWLING_ back to ME! Just like you _always_ do!”

“I’ll _NEVER_ crawl back to you again! Last time was the _last time!_ We’re _THROUGH,_ Bellatrix Lestrange! DO YOU HEAR ME? _THROUGH!_ I’VE NEVER LOVED YOU! I JUST USED YOU AS A REPLACEMENT FOR QUIRINUS!”

“WHATEVER!” Bellatrix screeched. “I don’t _care!_ At least I got _SOMETHING_ out of it! And you know what I told you about your penis, Voldemort? I _LIED!_ Your penis is the _SMALLEST_ penis I’ve ever _seen!_ And I’ve seen _A LOT!_ ”

“GET OUT!” Voldemort ordered. “GET OUT I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOUR UGLY FACE AGAIN!”

“FINE!” There was a pause. “I HATE YOU, LORD VOLDEMORT! I HATE YOU!”

The door opened, and Bellatrix Lestrange, in nothing but skimpy, black lingerie, stormed out of the room, leaving the door ajar. She met Lucius and Snape’s eyes, and upon seeing Snape, she stopped and spoke.

“He’s all yours,” she said angrily, and then started down the hallway, Lucius and Snape’s eyes following her. Halfway down the hallway, she Disapparated.

Did I mention that even though Bellatrix is Voldemort’s personal bitch/secretary/torturer, they fight more than they make love? …It must have slipped my mind…

“Good riddance,” Voldemort said, causing Lucius and Snape to jump and look into the room. Voldemort was buttoning up his cloak, and paying full attention to his cloak as he spoke. “She knew I needed to speak with you, Severus, but she came in like…like _that_ –” He gestured to the place where Bellatrix Disapparated from. “– and _demanded_ sex. That bitch,” he sighed, finishing buttoning his cloak. He looked up, surprised to find Snape still outside the room. “What are you still doing out there? Come in, come in…” Voldemort ordered, and Snape obeyed. With one last glance at Lucius, he stepped into the room.

The room was very small. It was square, and in the center of each wall there was a torch. The walls, like the stairs and the hallway, were stone gray. Nothing was in the room except for a wooden desk, a small garbage bin that was next to the desk (which was full of crumpled papers), and two chairs in front of the desk. Voldemort stood behind this desk, still fixing his cloak.

“Shut the door, will you, Severus?” Voldemort asked. Again, Snape obeyed. “Good. Now come and sit down,” he gestured to two seats in front of his desk. Snape began to sit in one, but Voldemort’s voice stopped him. “Erm…not there…” he said, sounding very uncomfortable. Assuming that Bellatrix did something very dirty to that chair in her efforts to seduce Voldemort, he sat in the other chair. Voldemort sat in the chair behind his desk.

“What did you –” Snape started, but Voldemort cut him off.

“Up-bup-bup!” he interrupted, waving his hand. “I have a speech,” he announced, pointing to a small stack of papers in front of him on the desk.

“I _apologize,_ my _Dark_ Lord. _Continue,”_ Snape apologized.

“You better be sorry…” Voldemort took the stack of papers, tapped the end on the desk to straighten them, and read what he wrote aloud. “‘Severus Tobias Snape,’” he read. He used Snape’s middle name. This was serious. “‘For seventeen years, I have been trying to kill Harry James Potter. For seventeen years, I have failed epically. The Seer, Sybill Trelawney, made a prophecy about one who would have the power to defeat me and destroy all my Horcruxes. The prophecy referred to Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom; _obviously_ , the boy who would have this power is Harry Potter. I attempted to complete the prophecy and kill Potter. Yet, due to Lily Potter’s – ’” Snape winced to hear her name, but Voldemort was too wrapped up in his speech to notice. “‘ – sacrifice to save her son, my killing curse rebounded off Potter and destroyed my body. This caused me to find a suitable host for my soul – and, at the same time, meet the love of my life: Quirinus Quirrell. He – ’”

“Um, Sir?” Snape cut in. “Not that I’d _love_ to listen to your _life story_ for the _millionth_ time, but could you _please_ just get to the part where you _reveal_ your new _plan_ to _kill_ Harry Potter?” he asked.

Voldemort scowled at Snape. He placed the papers back down on the table. Still keeping eye contact, he placed his middle finger on the stack, and moved it to his right. Then, he put his hands together in front of him on the desk, interlocking his fingers.

“Happy?” he asked, irritated.

“You _know_ I cannot _answer_ that. I’ll _never_ be _happy._ But I am _content_ now that you’ve _discarded_ the _speech._ How do you _plan_ to kill _Harry Potter?”_ Snape asked.

Voldemort leaned forward, as if he was going to whisper his plan. Snape leaned forward as well.

“Polyjuice. Potion,” he announced in a whisper, seeming very proud of himself.

“ _Polyjuice Potion_?” Snape repeated.

“Yes!” Voldemort said excitedly, sitting back in his seat. Snape, in turn, sat back as well. “A Polyjuice Potion! Using this Polyjuice Potion I will _disguise_ myself as _Harry Potter_ and _infiltrate_ Hogwarts!” he went on gleefully. “And when I do, I will gather all the information I can from Dumbledore before I kill him off!”

“Erm…Sir?” Snape said quietly. “What about the _real_ Harry Potter? _What_ do you plan to do with _him?_ Are you going to _kill_ him?”

Voldemort waved him off.

“Of course I will! …Not straight away, of course. I planned his death to be more… _dramatic_ than just waltzing into his room and killing him as he sleeps. I am a very depressed man, Severus, with many goals. I need more satisfaction than that,” Voldemort explained. “I will probably put him into hiding until the time for him to die has come.”

“…You _waltz?”_ Snape asked. He had taken lessons with Sanpe as a child, but he never would have thought that a wizard as evil as Voldemort knew how to waltz.

“No,” Voldemort said sadly. “But I do know how to tango.” He stood, holding his hands out, as if in mid-shrug. “Care to join me?” he asked.

“I’m _sorry;_ I don’t know _how.”_ Snape declined.

“Damn it,” Voldemort sat again. “Anywho, what do you think of my plan?” he asked, smiling.

“It’s _good,_ Sir. What can _I_ do to _help?”_

“You,” Voldemort started, pointing at his follower. “Are a potions master. Of course, you are a master of many other things –”

“Oh yes, I am…” Snape smiled playfully.

“The bitch said no flirting,” Voldemort warned. “Maybe later. But not now,” he added.

“Sorry,” Snape apologized as he hung his head.

“It’s alright. But still. You know potions like the back of your hand. I need a Polyjuice Potion,” Voldemort ordered.

 _“I_ can _do_ that. _But_ it takes a while. Two _months,_ tops –”

“NO!” Voldemort pounded the desk with his fist. He recomposed himself and continued. “Severus. You _know_ how long I’ve been trying to kill Harry Potter. I need this potion _as soon as possible_.” He stood. “I’m giving you a week, Severus. If the potion _with Potter’s DNA in it_ isn’t _in my hands_ by next Friday night –” He took out is wand and thrust it under Snape’s throat. “– I’ll have no other choice but to kill you. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Snape agreed.

Voldemort took his wand away and put it back in his cloak pocket.

“Excellent. Now go! Make me that potion!” he ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” Snape said, standing and Disappearing.


	3. Tuesday

“So, you’re going to see Dumbledore at midnight?” Ron asked for about the fifteenth time that morning during breakfast.

“Yes, Ronald, he is,” Hermione answered for about the fifteenth time.

“But at _midnight_ , though? Don’t you think that’s a little…you know… _sketchy?”_ Harry rolled his eyes at the use of italics. “I mean, it’s almost like Dumbledore’s out to get Harry.”

“What!?” Harry and Hermione chorused. This couldn’t be right. Ron must have had stupid pills this morning…

“Well, think about it. He’s not supposed to be out after, like, ten o’clock. But Dumbledore wants him to be out after _midnight_. It’s a bit ridiculous.”

“But it’s _important_ , Ron.”

“Then why can’t he tell him _now?”_

“That’s what I was just going to do, actually, Mr. Weasley,” a voice said from behind him. He made a  funny face, and then they three looked up. Lo and behold, Dumbledore was standing there.

“Hello, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry greeted him, while Ron and Hermione only mumbled their greetings.

“May I speak to you, Mr. Potter?”

“Sure,” Harry stood and followed Dumbledore out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore was walking very fast, even for his age. Harry had to keep a light jog in order to keep up. Again he wondered why Lucius needed a cane yet Dumbledore didn’t. Then he thought about what Dumbledore could possibly need him for. “Is this urgent, Sir?” he asked.

“Very,” Dumbledore answered. “I thought midnight would be a good time; I didn’t think these things were happening so fast…”

“Wait, what’s ‘these things’?” Harry asked, confused. What was going on?

“I’ll explain everything at my office…” he said as they came up to the entrance of Dumbledore’s office. He looked up at the gargoyles. “Voldemort’s nipple,” he said, and the gargoyles leaped aside.

“Voldemort’s –”

“Don’t say that,” Dumbledore cut him off. “That’s a Wizard Swear,” he warned. “Follow me,” he said, leading Harry up the stairs. When they were in the office, Dumbledore went and sat behind his desk. “Sit, Harry,” he ordered, and Harry obeyed.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Harry, do you know what holds our school together?” he asked.

“Something holds our school together?” Harry asked, confused.

“Yes. This thing is like our metaphorical glue, Harry. It keeps our school from falling to the hands of evil; namely Voldemort. Do you have any idea what this metaphorical glue is?” Dumbledore asked.

“You?” Harry guessed.

Dumbledore chuckled.

“No, not me. I could easily die next Wednesday and this school could still stand,” he explained. “Try again.”

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor?”

“No, that only holds Gryffindor House together.”

“The Sorting Hat?”

“No,” a voice came from behind him. Harry turned and saw the Hat on his shelf. “I only hold the Houses together. And you’re still in Gryffindor, buddy.”

Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

“Magic?”

Again, Dumbledore chuckled.

“In a way, yes. Magic holds everything together. But this is a tangible object, Harry,” he explained. “Do you give up?”

“Yes,” Harry sighed. He didn’t like giving up. “What holds the school together?”

Dumbledore sat back and opened a drawer of his desk. He looked around it for a moment, and then closed the drawer. He opened another drawer and reached in, moving things about. Then his hand appeared, holding a small object.

“ _This_ holds Hogwarts together, Harry,” Dumbledore said, opening his hand and revealing said object.

It was small and golden, the wings long and white. It was glorious (you know, for as glorious a little golden ball could be).

It was the Snitch.

“The Snitch, Sir?” Harry asked, seriously confused.

“Yes, Harry. The Snitch,” Dumbledore said. “This Snitch has been used for every Hogwarts Quidditch game in history of Hogwarts; it’s the only thing that’s lasted as long as Hogwarts has.”

“Really, now?” Harry asked. How could _everything_ in Hogwarts get replaced at least _once_ except for that itty bitty Snitch? “Even the Sorting Hat?” He turned around and faced the Hat.

“Yes, Harry. Even me,” the Hat said. “I was made in 1701. This school was made centuries before then.”

Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

“Then how were the Houses sorted?” he asked.

“Have you ever seen the Wheel Of Fortune, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. “It was kind of like that. There were four sections, one for each House. And when a student was called, they would come up and spin it. Wherever the pointer was when the wheel stopped was the House they now belonged to.”

“Wait, isn’t that –” Harry started.

“Yes…it’s all about trial and error, Harry. Keep that in mind. We figured out that it would be better if we used an _enchanted_ object when Wilber Macnair was sorted into Gryffindor. His great-great-great-great-grandson’s now a Death Eater, you know…His name’s Waldin Macnair…”

“Isn’t Walden Macnair the guy that –”

“Tried and failed to execute Buckbeak? Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “And then there was that time the Sorting Hat was magically hinged to the Scarf of Sexual Preference…and we had to use the Wheel to Sort…” He met Harry’s eyes. “Your father…” he said distantly. “And your mother…And Severus Snape and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew…”

“So _that’s_ how Pettigrew got into Gryffindor!” Harry exclaimed.

“And a few other mishaps…” Dumbledore explained. “It is fun to imagine what would happen if Voldemort knew if one of his Death Eaters was a Gryffindor…” He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes vacant, as if imagining Voldemort’s reaction if he knew that a Gryffindor was in his league of Death Eaters. Suddenly, he returned back to reality. He held up the Snitch. “I think Voldemort may be after this.”

“Yes, and…?” Harry asked slowly.

“And he will stop at nothing until it is in his hands.”

“Yes. And…?” Harry asked again.

“If he _does_ get it into his hands this school will be his. No one will be able to stop him from taking over Hogwarts – and getting to you.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“So…” he started, not really knowing where to go from there.

“So, if Voldemort gets to the Snitch, he will most certainly get to you. You know how you have that Quidditch match in two weeks, Harry?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry nodded.

“You have to play in this next match, Harry. Voldemort plans to strike _then,_ ” he explained.

“How do you –” Harry started.

“I know these things, Harry, I just know,” he smiled. “I’m psychic,” he explained.

“No you’re not,” Harry said incredulously. Only Sybill Trelawney was psychic – and she was insane. Dumbledore wasn’t insane.

“I am. But you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to…” Dumbledore shrugged.

“But then how –”

Dumbledore stood.

“No time to explain it all. Just don’t worm yourself out of this match. Understood?” he asked, moving to the front of his desk. Harry nodded. “Good! Now go to your class!”

Harry nodded again and stood, turning towards the door. Then he stopped and looked up at the Hat on its shelf.

“Wait a minute. I thought the four founders made you,” he recalled from one of Professor Binns’ lectures.

“Erm…yes…they did…but nobody ever really _found_ me until the whole Walden Macnair fiasco…” The Hat said rather uncomfortably.

“Ah,” Harry said. “Well, good-bye, then,” he said, waved to the Hat and Dumbledore, and then left the office.

* * *

Snape paced his room, violently grabbing ingredients. He had cancelled his first class to work on this potion – and, trust me, Snape _never_ passes up the chance to torture second-years. _Why_ , oh, _why_ did he ask Voldemort if he needed help taking over the world _oh, why?_ He threw the ingredients carelessly into the cauldron, barely taking the time to accurately measure out the ingredients. If this potion wasn’t going to transfigure Voldemort into Harry Potter, it was going to kill him.

There was a knock at his door.

“Not _now_!” Snape barked, yet the door opened anyway.

“Hello, Severus.” Snape turned, knowing the voice and instantly getting annoyed by it.

“Argus.” Snape greeted, irritated. Why was Argus Filch here _now_? “Is there anything you _need_ ; I’m kind of _busy…_ ”

“I heard you had some Peeves trouble…” He had a net and a lamp. They were tangled together. “I’m sure I can…”

“ _Peeves_ trouble? No – How – I do _not_ have Peeves trouble. And your _net_ and _lamp_ are _tangled_.” He informed his coworker.

“Yes I know this.” Filch snapped. “Then why did you cancel your first class?”

Snape paused. It was so hard to explain. He couldn’t just outright tell Filch that he was making a Polyjuice Potion; Filch would ask why and Snape would have to tell him that he was doing Voldemort’s bidding…

“I had to _tell_ you that your _net_ and _lamp_ are _tangled_.” Snape covered quickly. “Now _get out_.” He ordered.

Filch hesitated only a moment, and then left.

And then Snape went back to working.

He threw in the knotgrass and the fluxweed and then grabbed the leeches and then – shit. He poured in the contents of the bottle, and then, after realizing that the contents of said bottle weren’t leeches, looked at the label.

Lionfish parts.

Lion. Fish. Parts.

FUCK.

Snape looked inside the cauldron. It was supposed to look murky and muddy and green. It was now murky and muddy and purple. _Purple_. Severus Snape had just totally screwed himself.

“FUCK THIS _SHIT_!” He yelled in a fit of rage, knocking over the cauldron. The contents of the polyjuice-potion-that-never-was spilled all over the floor.

Now he would have to clean it up.

At this point, Snape either wanted to take a very long nap, or die a very slow death. The slow death seemed most desirable at the moment. Yet, he did neither. He paced around the room, in deep thought. He ran out of lacewing flies, bicorn, and bloomslang trying to make this potion. He even ran out of the lionfish parts that weren’t supposed to be anywhere _near_ the potion… He would have to go and buy all new ingredients – wait.

He would have to _buy_ the new ingredients.

He would have to _buy_ the things needed to make this potion.

He could just _buy_ the _potion_!

“That’s _it_!” He yelled.

He ran and grabbed his travelling cloak, making plans to cancel his second class – fourth years. Well, fourth years are boring, anyway… They’re fourteen; all you have to say is that the girls are a little too big and the guys’ voices are a little too high and you’ve just ruined their week. He could afford to go one day without them.

He pulled his arms through his sleeves, and Disapparated.

* * *

Harry sat in his Transfiguration class, listening to Professor McGonagall go on and on about…well, transfiguration. Today the class was going to have to transfigure a porcupine into a pillow… Nobody found this exciting at all, but McGonagall talked about it like it was the prospect of going to Orlando, Florida. After a long, long lecture (that was filled with italics and Harry didn’t pay much attention to) she finally released the porcupines. Of course, the fact that living, breathing, full-grown porcupines scared a few people she had used as guinea pigs for this lesson a few years back, she made everyone transfigure baby porcupines. Of course, they were adorable little things, and most of the girls didn’t want to transfigure them but instead watch them crawl around on the desk.

The guys tried as much as possible to transfigure them into the manliest looking pillows in the world…and failed. Dean Thomas tried going for a camouflage pillow and ended up making a pink, frilly pillow that was only acceptable to be made if it was made for Dolores Umbridge. He was very embarrassed about this…

But after Ron made a blood-red pillow and Harry made a navy blue pillow, they were satisfied and didn’t meet the same fate as Dean, who would now be known as the “Umbridge Pillow Maker” for the rest of his life. Hermione was one of six girls who didn’t transfigure their porcupines. She, in fact, named her porcupine Humphrey.

And that got her a one-way ticket to ~~Azkaban~~ five points away from Gryffindor. They were never going to make it over the zero mark, were they?

After that fiasco, it was off to Charms.

Nobody really understood why Professor Flitwick wanted to become a jellyfish after reaching the age of ninety reverting back to his thirties, but no one ever questioned it. According to Fred and George, he’s been doing his little jellyfish thing for centuries. Maybe he wanted to last as long as Professor Binns, who was a ghost. No matter how hard Flitwick tried, he would never out-last Binns. But maybe Flitwick knew this and yet enjoyed trying… The world may never know. But, nonetheless, Flitwick made a good teacher; no one could deny it. If he wanted to be a jellyfish, let him.

That day’s lesson was probably the best. It was a lesson on making ink spew out of the tip of one’s wand; by the end of the hour the walls were covered in messages written by the sixth years. Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville all made a giant Chudley Cannons logo on the ceiling, while the girls drew flowers and unicorns and girly stuff on the walls… Well, except for Hermione. She wrote her class notes on the wall… This was one of those times Harry loved magic; especially when Flitwick waved his wand and all the ink flew off the wall and into a bucket. You can never get tired of that.

Harry was a fan of The Jellyfish.

After Charms with The Jellyfish, the sixth years headed to Potions.

Harry was pretty annoyed with the fact that he had to 1) spend a _class_ with Snape and then b) have a _detention_ with Snape.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Ron asked, noticing Harry’s quietness.

“I’m spending more time with Snape than I am with you and Hermione and…generally, myself.” He looked up at his best friend. “Is that weird?”

“Nah.” Ron shrugged. “I spend more time with food than I do with anyone, even Hermione. It’s not weird at all.”

“Wait – really?” Hermione asked, who had only caught that part of the conversation for she was talking to Ginny and Luna, who were on their way to Herbology.

“Well, I enjoy eating… But I like you more…” Ron tried to talk his way out of Hermione’s death glare.

After a moment, she looked away and to Ginny and Luna.

“Boys, honestly.” She huffed, loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear.

“I agree.” Ginny nodded. There was a little twinge in Harry’s heart as she showed how disapproving she was towards men.

“I suspect their heads are filled with Nargles.” Luna stated dreamily. “Yet I think Ron has more than most…”

“Or just one really big one.” Ginny laughed, raising her hand for a high-five.

After a moment’s hesitation, Luna high-fived Ginny.

Ron sighed.

“Moving on…It’s not _your_ fault Snape hates you, Harry; it’s your dad’s.” He pointed out. “Yet…that doesn’t really explain why he wants to spend more time with you than any other student…”

“Because he knows how much I hate him.” Harry shrugged. “And how much I’d rather eat a bowl of frosted nails for breakfast everyday for the rest of my life than spend five hours more than usual with him. I think he plans to torture me until I scream random phrases such as, ‘I love giraffes who love giraffes!’”

“I thought you already did, Potter.” Draco Malfoy said, pushing between Harry and Ron.

“Um…who invited _you_ into this conversation?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, Mr. Future Death Eater?” Harry mocked.

“ _Obviously_ , I did.” Malfoy laughed snootily. “And you’re lucky I’m even _talking_ to you, Potter. I could just kill you right now.” He smirked. Harry rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. He was the boy who lived; as if he was going to let someone like Draco Malfoy kill him. I mean, seriously. Harry Potter getting killed by a BLOND? Psh, yeah, right.

“Yeah, but you _won’t_.” Hermione said, cutting in. “There’s too many witnesses.”

Malfoy looked around, as if just noticing the crowd.

“Yes…and then I couldn’t make it look like an accident because then you would all _know_ that it was _I_ who killed Harry Potter…”

“And then we’d tell You-Know-Who that you didn’t save Harry for him but instead killed him! He’ll be pissed!” Ron said excitedly.

Malfoy glared at Ron.

“I hate you, _Weasley._ ” He spat.

Ron glared back.

“Obviously. Now don’t you have somebody’s ass to kiss?” Ron asked.

Malfoy looked at his watch.

“SHIT, you’re _right._ I’ve got to get Snape to give me another _Outstanding_ on the potions essay I didn’t do.” He started to run off, and then he turned around. “See you in Potions, Potter!” He called, and then ran off again.

“Man, do all Slytherins speak in italics or is it just the ones I know?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes again.

“I bet it’s all of them.” Ron nodded, glaring at the retreating Malfoy. “They’re so melodramatic.”

“Actually, yes, all Slytherins speak in italics.”

Yet, despite what Malfoy said, he and Harry never actually _saw_ each other in Potions.

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and all the other sixth years reached the Potions room, there was a note on the door.

“‘To my Fourth Years (and possibly my Sixth Years):’” Hermione read aloud. “‘For reasons that are none of your business, I cannot teach you today. Use this free block to perfect (or complete) last night’s homework. And, Harry Potter, I expect to see you tonight at 6:00 for your detention. Sincerely, Professor Snape.’”

“That’s awesome.” Harry muttered.

“A free block?!” Ron said happily. “Yes!” He looked at Hermione. “Can you help me finish my potions essay?”

“You mean _start_?” Hermione corrected him.

“Yeah! Can you help me start _and_ finish my Potions essay?” Ron asked.

Hermione sighed.

“Fine.”

And Harry, Ron, and Hermione (along with many other Sixth Years), walked back to their common rooms…

* * *

At first, Snape thought to go to Diagon Alley to buy himself his Polyjuice Potion. But then he realized: this potion was going to be used for evil purposes. Even if Polyjuice Potion _was_ in Diagon Alley, Snape couldn’t buy it. He would have to go to Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley was _the_ place to be for any dark wizard. It had anything and everything that a dark wizard could possibly want, like, ever. They carried the finest stock of enchanted objects; some designed to kill whoever touched them (Lucius had used that on an ex-girlfriend…); others were used to help evil-doers know when their enemies were near; some were designed to aid any trouble-maker’s escape; and others were used to put harm to anyone that the evil wizard chose. But not everything in Knockturn Alley was used to harm a bad wizard’s enemies.

Some stores carried the same things that stores at Diagon Alley sold. There were cloaks in Knockturn Alley as well as Diagon Alley; the only difference was that Knockturn Alley’s cloaks looked more sinister than the cloaks sold in Diagon Alley. Wands were also sold in both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley; yet the wands in Knockturn Alley were more powerful than Ollivander’s wands in the “Unforgivable Curses” area… With Knockturn Alley’s wands you could use the Imperius Curse on fifty different people at once; the Cruciatus Curse was so painful it made one beg for death, or at least the Dementor’s Kiss; and the Killing Curse…well…let’s not think about that… Most wizards who _know_ about this wand shop wonder why Tom Riddle (aka Voldemort) didn’t get his wand there, but, _obviously_ , the shop opened after Tom Riddle turned 17. His only choice was Ollivander’s when he was eleven…

One of the most popular stores was Skulls R Us. It was a store that most dark wizards went to buy their creepy furniture. Snape wanted to buy all of the desks in the Potions room from Skulls R Us, but Dumbledore (like any good wizard) decided against it. Even though Snape complained it was the hottest style for _any_ Death Eater, Dumbledore wouldn’t hear any of it. His excuse was that it would scare the students. Seriously? It’s just human skulls and bones; only decoration. How could students be scared of decoration? Oh well; it was Dumbledore’s orders, and Snape had to obey them.

And besides, Snape wasn’t going anywhere near Skulls R Us today. He was going to Pettigrew’s Poisons and Potions. Peter Pettigrew’s cousin, Peyton Pettigrew, owned the store, and he was a little less rat-like than his cousin…and more a Death Eater than Peter would ever be. He and Snape got along fairly well, for they were both into the potion-making business…

Snape walked into Pettigrew’s Poisons and Potions and approached the desk. Peyton Pettigrew smiled at Snape.

“Hello, Severus. Long time, no see.” He greeted his fellow Death Eater. “How’s my cousin doing?” He asked.

“ _I’m_ not _sure_.” Snape shrugged. “The _Dark Lord_ hasn’t _requested_ his _presence_ in a _while_ … I _thought_ he was with _you._ ”

“No, he hasn’t been. _Unless_ he snuck into the basement…” Peyton paused. “Excuse me for a moment…” He left the desk. Snape leaned over the desk to see Peyton open the door to the basement. “Pete-PETER! PETTIGREW! DON’T TURN INTO A RAT; YOU _KNOW_ I SAW YOU!” Suddenly, a rat ran out of the basement, between Peyton’s legs, and through a hole in the wall, squealing. Peyton returned to the desk. “Damn it! I’m trying to keep a low profile and _he_ goes hiding in the basement!”

“ _Low_ profile –?” Snape started.

Peyton pulled up his left sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark.

“Nobody knows about this. I’d like to _keep_ it that way.” He rolled down his sleeve again. “But with Peter hiding in the basement…someone could find out.”

“How?” Snape asked.

“I’ve denied the fact that I am related to him. If anyone found out about the fact that we’re _cousins_ …” He sighed. “Someone could ask if I’m a Death Eater like him. And once _that_ question arises, I won’t be able to clear my name. Ever.”

“Then… _screaming_ Peter Pettigrew’s name probably _wasn’t_ the best idea on _your_ part, was it?” Snape asked.

Peyton sighed, facepalming himself.

“Shit.” He looked up and around the room. “Oh well. I’ll Obliviate the neighborhood later…” His eyes met Snape’s. “What did you come for, anyway?”

“I _need_ a _Polyjuice Potion_.” Snape said.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Peyton said, coming around to the front of the desk. “I’ve got a few of those.” He smiled. “Follow me.”

He led Snape to the far side of the store. There was a single shelf of Polyjuice Potions; all different colors in little bottles. They were just a little out of Peyton’s reach, but he could still grab them.

He took an orange bottle and looked at its label.

“This one will make you look like a Muggle man for a day.” He looked up at Snape, offering the bottle to him.

Snape shook his head as Peyton put it back. He took another bottle down and began to read the label.

“ _Actually_ , I –”

“Do you want to become a girl for a day?” Peyton cut him off, offering this bottle to him. “This one will do that.” He shook the bottle, its muddy purple content slightly moving around.

“ _No_ , Peyton. I need a _blank_ Polyjuice Potion. And _as much_ as _you have_ of it.” Snape said. “I’m on a _special mission_ for the _Dark Lord…_ ” Snape explained.

Peyton put the potion in his hand back.

“I see… I have a whole pot brewing in the back…” He led Snape to the desk again. “Hold on.” He said quietly, going back behind it and down to the basement.

In a few minutes, he returned with a fairly large cauldron of Polyjuice Potion.

“ _Perfect._ ” Snape smiled. He took the cauldron and started to pay for it.

“No, it’s on me. If it’s for the Dark Lord, it’s the least I can do…” He smiled.

“Of _course._ Well, good-bye, Peyton…” Snape and Peyton shook their left hands, and with his newly-obtained Polyjuice Potion, Snape Disapparated back to Hogwarts.

* * *

At exactly six o’clock, Harry walked into the Potions room and sat down at his normal seat. Snape was sitting at his desk, waiting.

“Did you _finish_ your _essay_?” Snape asked.

“I did.” Harry announced. He, Hermione, and Ron all worked on their essays during their free block. Harry was pretty proud of his essay, for once.

“Do you _have_ it _with_ you?” He asked.

Harry did have his potions essay with him. Hermione told him to bring it with him; just in case. _Thanks, Hermione_ , he thought, pulling it out of his bag. He went to Snape’s desk and handed in the essay. Snape glanced it over, and then looked up at Harry.

“Get to work.” He ordered, and Harry obeyed.

Back to scrubbing cauldrons.

Yippee.

After an hour of scrubbing, Dumbledore again entered the room. Just like last time, Harry watched him in awe as he walked ever-so-majestically up to Snape’s desk.

This time, though, Dumbledore looked urgent. This couldn’t have been good.

Dumbledore and Snape leaned towards each other and Dumbledore whispered something in Snape’s ear.

“You need to teach him Occo…Ock… It starts with an O and ends with a mency.” Dumbledore whispered loud enough for Harry to hear.

“You _mean_ …” Snape started to ask, but then his whispers became so quiet only Dumbledore could hear them.

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded.

“ _Me_?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore nodded.

“ _Now_?” He asked.

Another nod.

“With…with _him_?” Snape’s eyes wandered to Harry’s, and then back to Dumbledore.

A fourth nod.

Snape sighed.

“ _Fine…_ ” He muttered, and stood.

“Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore said, and left.

Harry watched as Dumbledore left, and then looked up at Snape. He was angrily putting a chair in the center of the room.

“May I ask…?” Harry started to ask, but then realized it would be best to keep his mouth shut.

“From _now_ on, instead of _detention_ , you will spend _two hours_ with me _every night_ learning _Occlumency_.” Snape announced. “Dumbledore’s orders.” He added quickly.

“Occo-what?” Harry asked.

“ _Exactly._ ” Snape nodded. “Now _sit down_. We’ve got _work_ to do…”

* * *

Harry walked into his dorm at eleven o’clock and fell, face first, into his bed.

“I’m in PAIN…” Harry moaned.

Ron woke up to Harry’s moaning.

“Huh-wha?” Ron sat up. He looked at his best friend. “Why are you in pain?” He asked.

“Ron, you know all this wizarding stuff better than I do, right?” Harry asked, going into fetal position on his bed.

“Well…you could _say_ that, I guess…” Ron shrugged. “I don’t mean to _brag_ or anything…”

“What’s Ock – what’s Ock-co-lep-see?” He asked.

“Ock-co-lep-see? What are you talking about, Harry?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know… Snape kept on telling me to block my thoughts from him… What is that called?” Harry asked, confused.

“I know what you’re talking about…but I can’t pronounce it. Nobody can except for Snape.” Ron shrugged.

“Not even Hermione?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Not even Hermione.”

“But Hermione’s a genius!”

“No one can pronounce it but _Snape_.” Ron repeated.

“Well, that’s stupid…” Harry said, now sitting up. “But what is it?”

Ron thought about it for a moment.

“Well, it’s mostly used to keep someone from using their mind-reading skills on you.” He paused. “Is someone trying to read your mind, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth, starting a sentence, but then closed it. But then he opened it again.

“I don’t know.” He decided the best answer.

Ron nodded.

“Well, if someone _should_ read your mind, Occo-whatever will come in handy.” Ron smiled, but then he paused. “But who would want to read your mind?”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He sighed. That, again, was his best answer. “I’m gonna sleep.” He decided, rolling over, his back facing Ron.

“Good idea.” Ron said, laying back down. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Ron.” Harry said, slowly dozing off…


	4. Wednesday

“Occo-low-mency?” Hermione asked upon hearing Harry and Ron talking about it that morning at breakfast. “Who’s learning Occo-low-mency? Who’s teaching it?”

“I’m learning it.” Harry sighed.

“Snape’s teaching it.” Ron added.

“Figures, figures…” Hermione slumped down in her seat. Knowing Hermione the way Harry and Ron did, they knew she wanted to learn Occ-low-mency. Yet, _nobody_ wants to spend more time than they have to with Severus Snape, so Hermione would never learn the art of Occ-low-mency. “Why are you learning Occo-low-mency?”

 “Thumb-uns tying do weed hith my-d.” Ron said, his mouth stuffed with scrambled eggs. His exact words were incomprehensible.

“What?” Harry and Hermione asked, unable to understand Ron.

“Thumb-uns tying do weed hith my-d.” Ron repeated, still indecipherable.

“ _Swallow_ , Ron.” Hermione instructed, and Ron swallowed his food.

“I _said_ ‘Someone’s trying to read his mind.’” Ron repeated for the third time.

“Someone’s trying to read Harry’s mind?” Hermione repeated. She looked at Harry. “Do you think it’s…You-Know-Who?”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know. It’s on Dumbledore’s orders, so maybe…”

Hermione suddenly had a plot-point-worthy thought come to her. She started bouncing up and down in her chair as the gears in her brain went faster and faster.

“Hermione, what –?” Ron started.

“What if You-Know-Who’s planning on using you for something?” She asked, still bouncing. “Trying to figure out what you’re doing every waking minute of every day so he knows the perfect time to strike?”

“Strike?” Suddenly, Luna Lovegood appeared, sitting next to Hermione. She looked across the table at Harry and Ron. “What are we boycotting? Is Professor Umbridge back?” Luna looked around, trying to see the aura of pink that was Dolores Umbridge.

“No, Umbridge isn’t back, Luna.” Ron said, eating a piece of toast. “Er-my-own-ee wath juth ofer thinkin our six-you-ate-shun a liddle doo much…”

Luna tilted her head a little to the left.

“Why, Ron. I didn’t know you could speak the ancient language of the Blibbering Humdinger fluently.” She said, surprised.

Ron swallowed.

“The what?”

“The Blibbering Humdinger.” Luna repeated. She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “There’s one.” She pointed at a space on the ceiling. Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked, but they didn’t see anything. “He’s hiding.” She looked back at Ron. “Anyway, what was Hermione over thinking about?”

“Wait – you could understand him?” Harry asked.

“Well, obviously.” Luna shrugged. “He said, ‘Hermione was just over thinking our situation a little too much.’ Moving on…” She looked at Ron, waiting for his answer.

Ron took a swig of his pumpkin juice, then spoke.

“Hermione thinks that You-Know-Who’s trying to read Harry’s mind so he’ll know the best time to come kill him, that’s all…” Ron explained.

Luna hesitated before she spoke.

“I never liked Voldemort; he’s so melodramatic.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at Luna, their jaws on the floor. They all thought the same thing: _Did_ Luna Lovegood _just say his_ name _instead of You-Know-Who?_ Luna looked at all three of them.

“He just is. If _I_ were Voldemort, I would just raise my wand and call out, ‘Accio Harry Potter’ and wait for you to come. But instead he has his Death Eaters and his plans… It’s rather pointless…”

Harry could see Luna’s point. As much as he didn’t like the idea of Voldemort summoning him via “Accio,” he didn’t really see the point of Voldemort doing all these melodramatic things just to kill one person.

Harry was the first one to speak.

“You’re right. He is kind of melodramatic, isn’t he?”

Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Extremely so.” Luna shrugged. She looked at her watch. “It’s almost time for class. I’ve got Charms; I enjoy getting there before everyone else. It gives me time to practice, you know? I’m not too good at Charms…” She stood. “Good-bye, you three.” She waved cheerfully.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione said their goodbyes and Luna skipped off and out of the Great Hall.

Hermione looked back at Harry.

“If You-Know-Who’s trying to get inside your head…and it’s not because he’s trying to find the best time to kill you…why could he be trying, then?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe he’s planning something totally different than that. I have no idea. I’m not Voldemort…”

 

That day’s Potions’ class was one of the most awkward classes in Harry’s life.

When Harry sat down, he and Snape made eye contact for about thirty seconds. Harry didn’t know why he didn’t break it after three seconds, but instead he held Snape’s gaze. After these very strange thirty seconds, Snape stood up and started class.

This was the first sign of the awkwardness.

The second sign was the assignment Snape had given them. That was just it. Normally, the classes Snape taught only consisted of lectures or making a potion. But no. The class had a written assignment to complete.

They were to write every single potion they had ever made in class. Every. Single. Potion. Since their First Year. Six years worth of potions.

“What the hell?” Ron whispered, staring at his empty page. “Hermione –?” He looked over at his girlfriend, who had half a page filled.

With a reluctant sigh, she passed the page to him, and he and Harry copied down her notes.

“Honestly, why can’t you two think for yourselves?” She asked.

“Cause if we think for ourselves we fail.” Ron shrugged. “With you we at least get A’s.”

“Fine, fine…” She looked up, and stole her paper back.

Ron and Harry looked up. Snape was standing up from his desk. This couldn’t have been good. Like, at all.

Thus the _third_ sign of the awkwardness.

Instead of calling the class’ attention, Snape started walking around the room, watching the students work. Snape _never_ did this. Something must have been up.

Assuming they were in trouble, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all got back to work, bending over their papers.

After about twenty minutes of hearing Snape’s feet hitting the floor in his slow walk around the room, the rhythm stopped. Snape had stopped walking. Harry looked up from his paper, trying to see where Snape had stopped. He couldn’t see his Potions professor anywhere.

And then suddenly –

Harry felt something pull on the hairs on the top of his head. He spun around, yelling some sort of gibberish, and faced his Potions master. Snape had both hands raised, as if he was some sort of criminal and Harry was the police. One hand held scissors; the other had nothing in it. Harry placed his hand on where he had felt the pull.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Harry shouted at Snape.

Snape didn’t know what to do; try to explain himself or deduct ten points from Gryffindor for Harry’s choice of words. Before he could do anything, though, Harry stood up and ran from the room. Everyone stared at Snape.

The first pairs of eyes he met were Ron’s. Ron was staring at Snape, disgusted.

“Sketchball.” He muttered, before turning back to his work. Snape wanted to deduct fifty points from Gryffindor for disrespecting him like that, but he couldn’t find his voice.

So, finding nothing else to do, he went back to his desk, and hid his fire-truck-red face behind the biggest book he could find. He could have heard Hermione Granger giggling…

Meanwhile, Harry ran down the hall, repeating “What the fuck?” over and over again. He wasn’t too sure where to go, or even where he was going, but he was too sketched out to really care. He just ran. Pretty soon a thought occurred to him; he should probably see if Snape got anywhere near him with those scissors…

Harry burst into the nearest bathroom and looked at his head. No hair _seemed_ to be missing…

“Hello, Harry.” A voice behind him said.

Harry spun around.

Oh, shit. It was Moaning Myrtle.

“Oh, um… Hi, Myrtle…” Harry greeted her.

“What have you been up to?” She asked. “You haven’t been _anywhere_ near here lately…” She sighed sadly.

Actually, Harry had been purposely avoiding Myrtle’s bathroom. She was kind of a creeper, and Harry hated creepers. Plus, he didn’t really feel like being flirted with at the moment…

“I’m supposed to be in Potions right now, but –” Harry started.

“But you skipped class so you could come see me?!” Moaning Myrtle guessed excitedly. She flew around the bathroom in her giddy state, and then she flew close to Harry’s face. “You naughty boy, Harry…” She winked.

Harry took a step back.

“Um, no, actually…” He stuttered. “I was running away from my insane Potions teacher…”

“Well, you can hide in here with me…” Myrtle giggled. “No one will ever find us…”

“I WANNA BE FOUND!” Harry screamed, no longer able to take Myrtle’s advances. He ran from the room and as far as he could before he could hear Myrtle’s sobs. He felt bad for making her cry, but he didn’t want to be near her any longer.

Now that Harry knew that Snape (the person who was now number one on Harry’s list of sketchy people) didn’t cut his hair, he figured there was no better place to go but his dorm.

When he got to the Gryffindor Portrait, he gave the Fat Lady the password (Galumphing Glumbumbles), walked directly to his bed, laid down and stared at the ceiling.

Severus Snape had just tried to cut Harry’s hair in the middle of class. But _why_? Harry shrugged, closing his eyes and starting to nod off. Oh well, at least Harry didn’t have to see Snape for the rest of the day…– Wait. Harry had Occ-low-mency lessons with Snape that night.

Shit.

 

As soon as the last student of the day left the Potions room, Snape revealed himself from behind his book. Shit. He just totally ruined his well-earned reputation at Hogwarts. He went from being feared and respected to a “sketchball” in thirty seconds. He couldn’t imagine what his students thought of him now. He stood up and paced the room. He needed Harry Potter’s hair. But how was he going to get it?

At that moment, there was a knock on the door.

“Go _away_!” Snape shouted.

The person outside the door was probably a Gryffindor, for they didn’t move. Asshole.

“Uh…Sir? We need to do the Ock-co-lep-see lesson…” Harry Potter mumbled from outside.

“It’s _Occlumency_.” Snape corrected him. “And _no._ You _better_ get away from my door _now_ or I will _Crucio_ your _ass_.” He threatened.

“But –”

“I will give you to the _count_ of _three_.” Snape warned. “One… _two…_ –” Snape was about to say “three” when he heard Harry’s voice.

“But it’s Dumbledore’s orders.” Harry reminded him.

Snape opened the door.

“ _What_ is your _problem_ , Potter? I am _ordering_ you to get as _far away from me_ as possible for the _first time_ in your _entire life_. I _thought_ you’d be _running_ for the _hills_ by _now_. And _yet_ you decide to _stand_ here and risk your _life_. _What_ is _wrong_ with you?”

“Learning Ock-low-lep-see –”

“ _Occlumency_.” Snape corrected him.

“– was on Dumbledore’s orders. I want to be a good little Gryffindor and obey them.” Harry shrugged.

“Alright, how about _this_ , then…” Snape took out his wand and placed it under Harry’s chin. “Don’t obey _Dumbledore’s_ orders but _instead_ obey _mine._ Go _back_ to Gryffindor common room and don’t tell _anyone_ about our _conversation_. Understood?”

Harry nodded.

“Understood.” Harry was able to choke out.

Snape took his wand out from under Harry’s chin.

“Then _go._ _Now._ ” He ordered. Before Snape could say or do anything more, Harry bolted down the hallway and out of the dungeons. Snape smiled to himself. “ _Good_ riddance.” He said, closing the door.

He would get the hair he needed; but not tonight. And besides; he had four days to obtain Harry’s DNA and give the potion to Voldemort…he could wait a bit…


	5. Thursday

Everyone heard the rumors of Snape’s sketchiness by morning. And, as it happens with rumors, some of them were a little over the top… Harry had about five different people ask him if he was going to turn Snape in to Dumbledore for trying to cut his face open with a pair of scissors… If you told Harry sometime last week that the words: “Oh, no. Snape didn’t shank me.” would pass his lips, Harry would have thought you were utterly insane. But now, saying these words _five different times_ …that idea didn’t really seem all that surreal to him…

So, as Harry spent his day denying that Snape tried to shank him, Snape had a little bit more of an exciting day…

 

Snape had to skip breakfast that morning. He didn’t feel like ignoring the stares and the gossip about him and… What would the _staff_ think? Dumbledore would probably question his decision of employing Snape in the first place, and McGonagall – McGonagall. _She’s_ probably going to think that he was trying to find another excuse to take points away from Gryffindor and try to get Snape _fired_ … _Everyone_ knows she didn’t trust Snape…

It was a good thing that Snape didn’t go to breakfast, though, for when he would be halfway through his oatmeal on any other day, he was suddenly Apparating to a certain strip club, but not by his own will…

Snape had be Summoned. This can’t have been good.

When Snape was able to distinguish where he was, he found himself in Voldemort’s office. Voldemort was sitting at his desk, his fingers folded, staring at Snape.

“Sit, Severus.” Voldemort ordered icily, and Snape obeyed.

Snape couldn’t think of any reason why Voldemort would be angry with him, so he figured he had been Summoned so Voldemort could vent. Snape had been used as Voldemort’s ventilation system many times before, and as much as he didn’t like it, he was used to it. But what could Voldemort need to vent about?

Wait. Of course.

“How’s _Bellatr_ –”

“Don’t.” Voldemort cut him off, closing his eyes tightly and putting a hand up. “Say her name. If you _must_ know, she’s fucking some Muggle…”

“She’s _fucking_ a _Muggle_?” Snape repeated, disgusted. “ _Who_?”

“Some guy by the name of Matt Damon.” Voldemort sighed, disgusted and jealous all at once.

“She’s fucking _Matt Damon_?” Snape asked.

“Yes…” Voldemort sighed that disgusted/jealous sigh again. “And she keeps _texting_ me; telling me _every single place_ they’ve done it!” He took out his cell phone from a drawer in his desk and read off of it. “They’ve done it ‘on the bed, on the floor, on the towel by the door, in the tub, and in the car,’ so far.” Suddenly, the phone rang. Voldemort looked at his newest text. “They just did it up against a mini bar…” He sighed again.

“So she’s _fucking Matt Damon_ , and they’ve done it on the _bed_ , on the _floor_ , on _a towel by the door_ , in the _tub_ , in the _car_ , and _up against the mini-bar_?” Snape asked.

“ _Yes_!” Voldemort groaned. “Why do you keep repeating everything I _say_?”

Snape shrugged.

“I was just _thinking_ , Sir… It would make [a catchy ](https://youtu.be/eSfoF6MhgLA?t=302)_[song](https://youtu.be/eSfoF6MhgLA?t=302)…_ ”

Voldemort thought about it.

“It would.” He agreed. Then he shook his head. “But I didn’t Summon you to discuss the many affairs of Bellatrix Lestrange.” He put his phone away and looked back at Snape. “You have been teaching Harry Potter Ock…Occo…” He paused. “…Occococcolememinem–”

“ _Occlumency_.”Snape corrected him.

“Yes.” Voldemort nodded. “Have you been teaching Harry Potter Occococcolememinemsee?” He asked.

“I _have_.” Snape nodded.

In a flash, Voldemort slammed his hands on the desk and stood up.

“ _WHY_ ARE YOU DOING _THAT_?” He shouted. “You _know_ I’m trying to read Harry Potter’s mind so I can penetrate Hogwarts _as him_ without anyone noticing the _huge_ personality change and then _you_ turn around and try teach him _Occococcolememinemsee_?!” Voldemort fumed, livid.

“It’s on _Dumbledore’s_ orders, Sir. I _can’t_ disobey them.”

“Oh! So you’re trying to be a goody-two-shoes _Gryffindor_ just like Harry Potter?!”

“ _No_ I am _not._ ” Snape glared at Voldemort. “I’m doing _your_ bidding by _making_ the _Polyjuice Potion_ and _getting Harry Potter’s DNA_. If I _tried_ to _avoid_ Harry Potter’s _Occlumency_ lessons _Dumbledore_ would expect something was _wrong_. I am being a _good little_ servant _to you_ and making sure _your plan_ is _safe_ from _him_.” Snape paused. “ _And_ , when you _think_ about it, Harry Potter _sucks_ at _Occlumency_ ; you can _surely_ penetrate his mind at _any_ moment…” He suddenly noticed that Voldemort’s mind seemed elsewhere. “ _Sir_?”

Voldemort snapped himself out of it and looked at Snape.

“Sorry.” Voldemort mumbled. “Potter’s just leaving the Great Hall and going to Care of Magical Creatures.” He paused. “He has so many girls in his life, and yet he wants that _Weasley_ girl… And yet _I_ get a bitch like _Bellatrix Lestrange_ …”

“Wait – did you just _say_ Harry Potter was _leaving_ the _Great Hall_?”

“Yes, to go to class…” Voldemort drifted off as he realized that Snape had to leave. “You have two more days, Severus. Get that DNA.” He reminded Snape.

“ _Yes_ , Sir.” Snape nodded. “ _Goodbye_ , Sir.” He waved to Voldemort, Disapparating from his office.  


Harry walked into the Potions room, head down, trying to avoid everyone in the room except for Hermione and Ron. During the journey from the door to their seats three different people asked Harry if Snape had tried to shank him. Ron, fed up with all the people who had asked Harry the same question that day, suddenly yelled above all the other noises in the room.

“SNAPE DIDN’T SHANK HARRY!” He shouted. “HE. TRIED. TO. CUT. HIS. FUCKING. HAIR.”

That shut everybody up really quickly…

Despite the day before, Snape carried class as normal. Yet, he totally disregarded Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry was absolutely sure that if he, Hermione, and Ron stood up on the desk and did the can-can Snape wouldn’t say a word.

He almost stood on the desk and did the can-can, too… But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had Occo-low-mency with Snape straight after class… If he did the can-can, he would _definitely_ be reprimanded for it later…

But instead, he just stared out into space, ignoring all the snide comments having to do the fact that Snape may or may not have shanked Harry.

It was the longest class ever, and Harry hated it. But then it was over, and the Occo-low-mency lesson began, which also wasn’t that entertaining.

And after hours of practicing, Harry thought that he was doing pretty good. Until –

_It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way._

_It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top:_ Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi _._

_His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no refection again. He stepped in front of it._

_He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him._

_But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror._

_There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?_

_He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air – she and the others existed only in the mirror._

_She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes –_ her eyes are just like mine, _Harry thought, edging a bit closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man was standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up in the back, just as Harry’s did._

_Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection._

_“Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”_

_They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees – Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life._

_The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache, half joy, half terrible sadness._

Suddenly, a voice rang out from nowhere; one that wasn’t part of the memory that Harry could see ever so clearly…

“Feeling _sentimental_?” Severus Snape asked, bringing Harry back to the present; sitting in the Potions room with Snape reading his mind.

“That’s private!” Harry protested. Why the _fuck_ can’t he just close is fucking mind? It would be _much_ better than practically watching Snape tap into his brain, especially with being the sketchball he was…

“Oh _well_!” Snape shrugged, raising his wand to try to read Harry’s mind again.

“No!” Harry begged. “It’s already eleven o’clock; I say we quit for the night.” He put on his best I-am-a-mature-sixteen-year-old-male-but-I-am-still-pleading face and met Snape’s eyes.

Snape lowered his wand.

“ _Fine_.” He sighed. “Go.” He said, and Harry was out in a flash.

Snape looked at his calendar. It was Thursday. _Thursday_. That meant one thing. Tomorrow was Friday. Tomorrow. He would get Harry’s hair tomorrow. And that was absolutely final. And besides, he had no other choice…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Matt Damon thing was an inside joke with me and my best friend at the time of this fic's writing.
> 
> And I'm like 99% sure I just copied the mirror of erised memory from HP 1 because that's how memories work (right?) so like. If I did, FRIENDLY REMINDER everything belongs to JK Rowling and she's great. 2 thumbs up. Please don't make a big deal out of it IT'S A CRACK FIC.


	6. Friday

That morning in the Great Hall was seemingly normal. Harry and Ron were discussing Quidditch while Hermione studied for her Ancient Runes class.

“We’ll win for sure, Harry.” Ron assured Harry. “With your awesomeness, and my…well…” He gestured towards himself in a no-words-could-express-how-epic-I-am kind of way. “…there’s no way we’d lose!”

“I know.” Harry nodded, Dumbledore’s words about the Snitch ringing in his head. “But we’ve gotta practice. A lot.”

“Not with your Occ-low-men-see lessons!” Hermione interrupted, looking up from her Ancient Runes book. “What’s more important? Quidditch or trying to stop You-Know-Who from reading your mind?”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then back at Hermione.

“Quidditch.” They answered together.

Hermione sighed heavily and returned to her reading.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and screaming could be heard.

“THESE. ARE NOT. MY _SHOES_!” Someone yelled. All heads turned to the entrance of the

Great Hall.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway. His white/blond hair was wet and mussed. His Slytherin tie wasn’t perfectly tucked in like it always was. The buttons on his cloak were off. His fly was unzipped. One of his socks was missing. His eyes were wild. Draco Malfoy was a mess.

“THESE. ARE _NOT_. MY _SHOES_!” He repeated, and suddenly, as if the shoes were controlling him, he started doing a riverdance down the aisle between the tables. “FACENISNISNISNISNISNISNIS!!!” He shouted, over everyone else’s laughter.

Harry, laughing, looked at Hermione and Ron.

“What’s Facenisnisnisnisnisnis?” He asked.

“Facenisnisnisnisnisnis _nis_.” Neville corrected him. “Malfoy’s trying to make it a thing. Like John Green and French the Llama.”

“French the Llama!” They heard Dumbledore yell. French the Llama had become a thing, but Facenisnisnisnisnisnisnis was never going to catch on. “Those shoes are _enchanted_!” He announced.

“THESE ARE NOT MY SHOES!” Malfoy repeated. He jumped up onto the Head Table and proceeded to do the can-can. “ _SOMEONE_ HAS _STOLEN_ THEM!” He yelled, turning around. His eyes scanned the crowds of laughing students. The dancing suddenly stopped. “YOU!” He pointed at the Gryffindor Table. Right. At. Harry. “ _YOU_ STOLE MY SHOES!!!”

Harry was surprised. He never stole _anything_ from Malfoy! And if he were to, why would he steal his _shoes_? His shoes were no different from Harry’s!

Harry stood.

“No I didn’t!”

“Ah, that’s bullshit!” Malfoy yelled, jumping off the table and doing the moonwalk down the aisle towards Harry. He stopped when he was in Harry’s face. “You’re just _oh-so_ jealous of me! _So_ jealous, in fact, that you _had_ to steal _my_ shoes and replace them with these _enchanted_ ones!” He turned to Dumbledore, who was still at the Head Table. “Well? Punish him!” He commanded.

Dumbledore stood up.

“I do not believe that Harry stole your shoes, Draco –” Dumbledore started, but then Malfoy cut him off.

“Oh yeah? You don’t believe me? Well…well…” Suddenly, he Disapparated. Harry was unsure if it was on his own will or the shoes…

* * *

Malfoy Apparated in front of Voldemort’s desk. Voldemort, who was in the middle of an intense plotting session, looked up.

“Draco Malfoy, what a surprise…” Voldemort said, crumpling up a piece of paper and tossing it into the garbage bin. “Did you get the memo?”

“ _I_ – What?” Malfoy asked, confused.

“My memo. We have a new Death Eater.”

“ _Who_?” Malfoy asked, frustrated about this. _He_ was the new guy! And he wanted to stay that way!

“Someone big. He has his name everywhere. _He_ made a name for himself. He can be our _broadcaster_.” He looked up dreamily.

“ _Who_ is it?” Malfoy asked.

Voldemort looked at Malfoy.

“He calls himself ‘Eminem.’”

“ _Eminem_?” Malfoy repeated. “That Muggle rapper?”

“ _Muggle_?” Voldemort repeated. “Oh, no, Draco. Eminem is a wizard. And he is now a Death Eater, so you would do well to respect him. Understood?”

“Fine.” Malfoy said, reluctant. “Sir, we have a small issue, though.”

“What would that be?”

“THESE. ARE NOT. MY _SHOES_!” Malfoy said, trying to walk up to Voldemort, but instead he did a bit of the mambo…

Voldemort looked down at Malfoy’s enchanted shoes.

“Yes. And?”

“I WANT. MY SHOES. _BACK_.” Malfoy demanded.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Voldemort asked.

“I don’t know…” Malfoy sighed, still dancing. “Get them _back_ , maybe?!” He suggested, angry.

Voldemort sighed. Malfoy stood still.

“Draco, Draco, Draco…” He said, shaking his head. “I am _Lord Voldemort_. I am a very busy man. I cannot screw up _my_ carefully-made schedule to retrieve _your_ shoes.” He explained.

“I know your plan.” Malfoy revealed. “I’ll tell Potter and Dumbledore everything if you don’t help me.”

Voldemort looked up at Draco.

“I’ll kill you if you try.” He threatened.

Malfoy sat, confident.

“Try me.” He smirked. He took out a cell phone from his pocket and pretended to dial. He was bluffing, obviously. He held the phone to his ear. “Hello? Yes, Professor Dumbledore. This is Draco Malfoy –”

Fed up, Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it between Malfoy’s eyes.

 _“Avada Kedavra_!” Voldemort shouted.

The green light flashed as the spell sped towards Malfoy. For a moment, Malfoy’s face went from overconfident to terrified. He closed his eyes. And then –

Nothing.

Malfoy opened his eyes. He stared at a livid/surprised Voldemort for a moment, and then he closed the phone and jumped up.

“Ah-ha!” He shouted. “My shoes make a _force field_!”

“A force field?!” Voldemort exclaimed. “But…my killing curse…” He whined. He looked at his wand. “You’ve never let me down before, Pookie…why now? Why here?” He cradled his wand in his hands.

“Erm…Sir? ‘Pookie’ _has_ let you down before.” Malfoy reminded him.

“What?! When?!” Voldemort asked sharply.

“Harry Potter, Sir?”

Voldemort gasped and turned his body around, as if protecting his wand from Malfoy. He looked behind him.

“Don’t let Pookie hear you say that!” He exclaimed. “It was Potter’s fault, not his!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“ _Anyway_ …I need my shoes back. _Now_. Can you do that for me? You know…like, a little _boost_ in our master/servant relationship we’ve got going here… I do every little thing that pops into your head, and you do this itty-bitty thing for me. Does that sound fair?”

Voldemort turned around.

“It _does_ … _very_ fair, indeed… Malfoy, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll be in Hogwarts on Monday. I’ll get your shoes then.”

“Yay!” Malfoy suddenly went fangirl and jumped into the air. When he landed, he Disapparated.

* * *

That evening, Snape heard a knock on the door. He looked up. This was it. He had to get the hairs tonight.

“Come _in_.” Snape ordered.

The door opened, and Harry Potter stepped inside. Snape had to keep himself from jumping up and just ripping Harry’s hair out of his scalp.

“Sorry I’m late, Sir.” He stuttered. “We had Quidditch Practice and –”

“ _No_ excuses. _Ten_ points from _Gryffindor_.” Snape said, lazily flicking his wand towards the door. The door slammed closed and locked. Snape couldn’t afford Harry running away this time, no matter how much of a sketchball Snape became…

With a sigh, Harry sat down in the chair that he normally sat in and met his Potions Master’s eyes. His green eyes were hard and cold, like Lily’s after that horrific day… What Snape would give to see Lily smile in his direction again… _“It’s too late.…You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.…Save your breath.…”_

“Professor?” Snape heard a voice from far away. Snape snapped back to reality and looked at Harry Potter, Lily’s child, who was staring back at him.

“What?” Snape snapped.

“Erm… Are you okay?” Harry asked. “You seem…paler than usual…” He seemed concerned for whatever reason.

“ _Nothing_! Everything’s _fine_! I wasn’t just _thinking_ about your _mother_!” Snape said entirely too quickly.

“What?” Harry asked.

“ _What_?” Snape repeated, again entirely too quickly.

After a moment of awkward silence, Snape pulled out his wand again, and started to read arry’s mind.

Halfway through a memory of Harry’s time in the Triwizard Tournament, a thought struck Snape. Harry was totally distracted trying to fight Snape in his mind – Snape could just reach out and take a few hairs right then and there…

He reached out, concentrating solely on taking Harry’s hair. And then –

“What are you doing?”

Shit. Snape was a little too focused on Harry’s hair. And now, he was caught by a fully-conscious Harry Potter with his hand on his head.

“Erm…um…I just _love_ your _hair_!” Snape exclaimed, coming up with the best excuse he could think of. He caressed Harry’s head. “It’s so _shiny_ and –” He pressed his nose into Harry’s scalp. “It _smells_ so _nice_! What _shampoo_ do you use?”

“Get away from my head.” Harry ordered.

“Sorry…” Snape backed away slowly.

“Seriously, Professor, why do you have to be such a pervert?” Harry asked.

That was when Snape snapped. Or, at least pretend to snap for a valid excuse to grab a fist full of Harry’s hair in anger. He reached out and grabbed a fist full and yanked as hard as he could.

“Do. _Not_. Call. Me. A _pervert_.” Snape growled, pulling his fist away from Harry’s head – _and a few hairs with it_.

Harry ran for it towards the door. Snape then unlocked the door for Harry, and Harry ran off, slamming the door behind him.

Snape looked at his hand.

Thirteen hairs.  Success.

Snape then ran and put these hairs in the cauldron of Polyjuice Potion he had gotten at Pettigrew’s Poisons and Potions, and, cauldron in hand, Disapparated.

* * *

He Apparated into Voldemort’s office – at just the wrong time.

Bellatrix Lestrange and Lord Voldemort were _doing it_. On _Voldemort’s desk_.

“You like that?” Snape could hear Voldemort whisper.

“YES!!! OH YES!!!” Bellatrix screeched.

Snape wasn’t sure what to do. He could just drop the potion and run, or he could interrupt them… All he could really do was stare.

An entirely naked Bellatrix was the first to notice Snape. She screamed as she pushed an equally nude Voldemort off of her.

“IT’S SEVERUS!” She screamed, pointing.

Voldemort looked at up and met Snape’s eyes.

“SEVERUS GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUTTA HERE!!!” Voldemort yelled as loud as he could. Snape opened the door, and a rat ran into the room. Bellatrix started screaming at the rat at that point.

“PETTIGREW! GET _OUT_ OF HERE!” She shouted as Voldemort dove behind the desk and threw Bellatrix’s dress at her. Using said dress to cover herself up, she jumped off the desk. She ran past Snape and Pettigrew to the door. Snape tried not to stare after her, but Voldemort and Pettigrew didn’t try nearly as hard. She left and slammed the door behind her.

Voldemort and Snape looked at each other. At that point in time, Voldemort was pulling on his cloak and buttoning it. Suddenly, they remembered the rat in the room. They both looked at Pettigrew. Pettigrew stood on his hind legs and looked at Voldemort, almost pleadingly.

Voldemort, who was now fully buttoned (well, maybe a few of the buttons weren’t in their corresponding hole), sat down in his desk and did a Double Facepalm.

“ _No_ , Pettigrew, you may _not_ have a raise!” Voldemort yelled from behind his hands.

Pettigrew looked dejected, but then he scurried to the door. Snape opened it and allowed Pettigrew to leave.

Snape then looked up at Voldemort.

“ _Death Eaters_ get _paid_?” He asked. _He_ never got paid a _cent_! Where was _his_ paycheck?

“No, Pettigrew’s only paid for leaving me alone.” Voldemort shrugged, finally showing his face. “Sit down, Severus…” He sighed, sitting up and gesturing to the chairs. “They’re clean.” He added when he saw Snape’s hesitation.

Snape sat. There was an awkward silence.

“So…I _see_ you and _Bellatrix_ are back _together_ …” Snape started quietly.

“Obviously…” Voldemort nodded. “He was cheating on her with some other Muggle by the name of Sarah Silverman…”

Snape nodded, even though it was still awkward to be in the room with Voldemort after what he just witnessed.

Voldemort looked over the desk at the cauldron of Polyjuice Potion on Snape’s lap.

“I see you completed the task.” Voldemort smiled and nodded in approval, the awkwardness melting away like snow. “Put it on the d–” He gestured to the desk, but then changed his direction to the corner. “On the floor. Over there.” He finished. He then moved away from his desk.

Did I forget to mention that _the_ Lord Voldemort’s a germaphobe? That must have slipped my mind as well…

Snape stood and put the pot where Voldemort instructed him to put it, and then he sat back down. It was then Voldemort stood up and walked over to the cauldron. He looked inside it and nodded a few times in approval. He breathed in the aroma it gave off (which just kinda smelt like dirt, but whatever floats your boat, Voldie…) and smiled. He turned back to Snape.

“It’s perfect. I knew you could do it.” He said, sitting down in his seat again. He was about to place his arms on his desk, but then instead folded them in his lap. There was a moment of silence. “Have you heard about Malfoy?” He asked.

“ _Lucius_? Yes, he’s trying to _recruit_ a _Muggle-Born_ by the name of _Taylor Lautner_ into the _Death Eaters_ , of all _people_.” Snape shrugged. “I thought _everyone_ knew about _that_ –”

“No, no, no; I _know_ about Taylor Lautner!” Voldemort cut him off. “I’m talking about _Draco_ Malfoy!”

“ _Draco_ Malfoy?” Snape repeated.

“ _Yes_ , Severus.” Voldemort sighed, fed up with Snape’s tendency of repeating everything he said. “Draco. _Fucking_. Malfoy. He has lost his shoes. He believes someone stole them… Do you know anything about this?”

“I _wish_ I could say I _did_ know _something_ , but I _don’t_. All I _know_ is that his _new_ shoes are _enchanted_ and make him _dance_ …” Snape shrugged.

Voldemort sighed.

“You’re _trying_ to take over the world and _just_ when you get the _pieces_ of your _plan_ into _place_ you have to worry about your _sixteen-year-old_ follower… Ugh…” He facepalmed himself again.

“ _Why_ do you even _care_?” Snape asked.

Voldemort sighed. He didn’t want to tell Snape that Draco Malfoy threatened to tell Dumbledore of his plans if his shoes weren’t returned to him asap.

“His…father…told me…that if I helped him retrieve his shoes…he would pay me a lot of money… And…we need lots of money… Because…we’re on a low budget…and…we need to _redecorate_! I mean, look at these walls!” He gestured to the walls of the room. “They’re _drab_!” Voldemort exclaimed.

Snape looked at the walls.

“They are _very_ drab, Sir…” He agreed. It seemed as though Snape bought the lie… “But _why_ didn’t you come to _me_ for _money_ , Sir? You _know_ I have _loads_ …”

“But…you have kids, don’t you, Severus? Seven of them? _Ten_ of them?”

“I’m _unmarried_ , Sir…” Snape reminded him for the umpteenth time.

“…Child support?” Voldemort asked. “One night stands? Remember that Summer of ‘72?” Of course, Voldemort had no idea what Snape did the Summer of ’72, but, come on, _everyone_ did _something_ the Summer of ’72…

Snape sighed, ashamed of something.

“There _was no_ Summer of ’72, _Sir_ …” Snape admitted.

“What? You mean…?”

“ _Yes_.” Snape hung his head. “I _am_ a _virgin_.”

Voldemort gasped and jumped back in his chair. Snape? A virgin? This was _impossible_! He _flirted_ like a promiscuous man who’s done it _many_ times, but apparently this was untrue! _Severus Snape_ was a _virgin_!

“How? _Why_?” Voldemort asked, stuttering.

“I _saved myself_ for the _wrong girl_ …” He whispered. Snape’s mind went directly to Lily Evans, while Voldemort’s went to some hot Slytherin chick that Snape might have had a crush on during his time at Hogwarts, but she probably didn’t even know Snape existed… “Can we _stop_ talking about _this_?” Snape asked, uncomfortable.

“Right.” Voldemort nodded and looked away from Snape as he gathered the little dignity and self confident he had back.

“ _When_ are you _coming_ to _Hogwarts_?” Snape asked, changing the subject to something that they _should_ have been speaking about the whole time…

“Monday morning.” Voldemort answered.

“And _what_ about the _real_ _Harry Potter_?”

“I’m not sure. But I’ll do something; don’t worry.”

Snape nodded and looked at his watch.

“I _should_ be getting _back_ …” Snape said, standing.

“Yes, and I should go talk to Bella…” Voldemort decided, standing as well. He put out his hand for Snape to shake.

“I am _not_ going to _touch_ that _hand_ ; _I_ have _no idea_ where it’s _been_ …”

“Right.” Voldemort nodded understandingly, putting his hand back at his side. _He_ didn’t even want to touch his _own_ hand at the moment, why would _Snape_?

“Goodnight, Sir.” Snape said.

“Goodnight, Severus.” Voldemort said, and then Snape Disapparated.

Voldemort had his hand on the knob of the door when a section of the wall behind his desk opened. Voldemort spun around and gasped audibly in either fear or surprise. Behind the section of wall, there was a big screen television with the Dark Mark on the screen. Voldemort knew what was coming. He fell to his knees and bowed before the screen.

The Dark Mark on the screen went away, and a woman’s silhouette appeared.

“Voldemort!” The woman called sharply.

Voldemort looked up at the silhouette.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He answered.

“Stand.” The rich, sharp voice ordered. Voldemort stood. The woman looked him over. “You’re a mess; what happened?” She asked.

“Nothing, Ma’am!” Voldemort said a little too quickly.

“Nothing, eh?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “How’s Bellatrix Lestrange?” She asked, as if she already knew.

Voldemort sighed, looking down at his feet.

“We got back together…” He revealed.

“I thought so.” The silhouette nodded, the smirk still in her voice. She then noticed the Polyjuice Potion in the corner.

“You have the potion, I see…” She observed.

Voldemort nodded.

“Severus Snape just delivered it.” He informed her. “And he’s a Potion’s Master; there’s _no way_ he could screw up a _potion_ …”

“I still don’t trust him…” The Boss informed him lazily, examining her nails. “I’m sure he’s working for Dumbledore…”

“ _Yes_ , but he’s a double-agent, ma’am. He’s on _our_ side; he gives me the insider’s look on what Dumbledore’s up to…”

She shrugged.

“Whatever…” She paused. “When will you be at Hogwarts?”

“I’ll be there on Monday.” Voldemort promised. “And Potter will be taken care of on Saturday.” He assured his boss. “For sure.”

“Good.” She smiled. Then she frowned. “You better not screw this up, Voldemort. Remember the last time you screwed up a mission?”

“That’s how this whole thing started…” Voldemort sighed. When he screwed up his last mission for her, she revealed to the world that he failed at killing Harry Potter – destroying his life forever.

“Yes, and you don’t want that happening _again_ , do you, Voldemort? Remember the _last_ baby who didn’t die? Hillary Duff? Do you want the world to know about _that_ , too?”

“No!” Voldemort gasped, quickly and loudly, more anxious and scared than anything. “ _Nobody_ must know _any_ of that!”

“Then kill Harry Potter.” She said simply. “And don’t screw up.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Voldemort said.

She looked up into the distance, contemplating.

“I wonder what the papers will say… ‘Lord Voldemort Fucked Up _Twice_ : Lord Voldemort Not Only Failed At Killing _One_ Baby But _Two_!’ And that poor Hillary girl…all the sudden publicity, for something that happened so long ago…”

“It will _not_ be in the papers and Hillary Duff will _never_ have that publicity!” Voldemort exclaimed. “And besides, I _did_ kill _something_ that night…”

“Oh yeah?” The Boss asked, incredulous. “What?”

“Her _cat_.” Voldemort smiled, feeling very bad ass. “Fur _everywhere_.”

“Was that _before_ or _after_ you failed at killing the toddler?”

“After!” Voldemort said defensively. “In retaliation…I was very mad at myself!” He exclaimed. “And…it was also to make sure my wand was still working…” He added quietly. “But it doesn’t matter! What _matters_ is that I _will_ succeed at killing Harry Potter, and no one, _no one_ , will find out about Hillary Duff!”

The Boss went back to inspecting her nails.

“Whatever you say, Voldemort…we’ll see who has the last laugh…”

“It’ll be _me_! HA!” Voldemort laughed. He continued laughing at The Boss. “Me! _I’ll_ have the last laugh! Hahahahaha! See? I’m laughing! Hahahahahaaa hee hee!” He took a step forward, towards the big screen. “I’ll get the last laugh and you’ll be so embarrassed you won’t be able to laugh _ever_ again! Hahahahaaa!” He smirked as he continued laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me.” The Boss ordered sharply.

Voldemort quickly subsided.

“Yes, Ma’am. I apologize.”

She nodded.

“I must be going now. Remember: You must be in Hogwarts by Monday, and kill Harry Potter on Saturday, or the news of Hillary Duff will be revealed.” The Boss reminded him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Voldemort said.

“Goodbye, Voldemort.” She said, and the screen went back to the Dark Mark, and the section of the wall covered the big screen television again.

Voldemort then turned back to the door, opened it, and left the room. It may have been The Boss’ main concern to kill Harry Potter, but _Voldemort’s_ main concern right now was to talk to Bellatrix…


	7. Saturday

Harry rolled over.

“Ugh…” He groaned. “I’m so sick of studying…” He looked up at the ceiling. “Aren’t you, Ron?” Harry couldn’t hear an answer. He sat up. “Ron?” Ron was lying on his stomach, asleep, using his Divination book as a pillow. “Yeah.” Harry said, lying back down. “Me too.”

Hermione, who was studying her Ancient Runes up on the couch of the common room, looked down at the two boys.

“Come _on_ , guys!” She sighed, closing her book and lightly smacking Ron on the back of the head to wake him up. “You want to get good grades, don’t you?”

“Oh _yeah_.” Ron said sarcastically. “You-Know-Who’s out there trying to take over the world and _my_ main concern is getting an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in class. _Right_.” He rolled over and stretched. “I’d rather take him on right here right now than study…” He trailed off, sitting up and folding his legs.

Harry sat up as well.

“No you don’t.” He warned his best friend.

Ron looked at his lap.

“Maybe I over exaggerated a bit…”

“A bit.” Harry rolled his eyes. He pointed at his scar. “You see this? I’d rather study than get this again.”

Ron nodded in agreement.

“I was definitely kidding…”

“You better have been.” Harry said, getting up.

“And just _where_ do you think you’re going?” Hermione asked, sitting up as well.

“I want to go on an adventure.” Harry said airily. He took a few steps towards the door. “I’ll be back…”

“Oh _no_ you don’t!” Hermione grabbed his arm. “The _last_ time you wanted to go on an adventure we found the _Sorcerer’s Stone_. No adventures.”

Harry sighed.

“Come on, Hermione. We were eleven. And besides, I’m just going to the kitchens. It’s not like I’m gonna find Voldemort hidden inside a piece of cake, right?”

“You-Know-Who cake…scrumptious.”  Ron nodded to himself, standing.

“And just _where_ do you think _you’re_ going?!” Hermione asked her boyfriend.

“With him, of course!” Ron exclaimed, pointing at Harry. “Whenever there’s food involved I’m in!”

Hermione sighed, letting go of Harry’s arm.

“Get me some Pumpkin Pasties or something, will you? I’m starving.” She asked so quietly the boys could barely hear her.

Ron and Harry looked at each other and smiled.

“Of course.” They chorused, and then ran out of the Common Room.

Harry and Ron were treated as kings in the kitchens by the House Elves who worked there. But the only House Elf that treated Ron and Harry like _real_ royalty was Dobby, who talked more like Elmo than anyone else.

“Mr. Harry Potter, Sir!” Dobby cheered when he saw Harry and Ron enter. “Dobby is _so_ excited to see Mr. Harry Potter again! And Mr. Roonil Wazlib, Sir! Dobby finds it a pleasure to be seeing Mr. Roonil Wazlib again!” He reached up and shook Ron’s hand.

“It – It’s Ron…” Ron tried to correct him.

Harry looked down at Dobby. He was wearing so many layers of clothes that Harry could barely see Dobby himself.

“Aren’t you hot in there, Dobby? It’s, like, three weeks into Spring.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby very much enjoys the heat! It is almost like a big hug!” ~~Elmo~~ Dobby exclaimed, wrapping his arms around himself. “Did Mr. Harry Potter like my Christmas present, Mr. Harry Potter, Sir?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry nodded. “Socks. Just what I always wanted…” Actually, Dobby’s gift was probably the only gift he _hadn’t_ used, yet…

“Yay!” Dobby cheered, clapping and spinning around in a circle, which just made Harry feel bad… When he was done dancing, he looked around, then back up at Harry. “Where is Miss Herm-own-ninny Gengar?” He asked.

“It’s Hermione –” Ron started to correct Dobby, but Harry cut him off.

“She’s studying.” He answered. “As always.” He added.

“Yeah.” Ron nodded. “Oh, do you have any Pumpkin Pasties, by the way?” He asked, fulfilling Hermione’s request as the boyfriend he is.

“And any other fine sweets you could spare?” Harry added.

“Oh yes! Dobby has many!” Dobby exclaimed. He ran off and soon returned with a large paper bag, filled with candies.

Ron took the bag and looked inside.

“Excellent!” He exclaimed. “Thanks!”

“Of course, Mr. Roonil Wazlib, Sir!” Dobby exclaimed.

Ron was too happy with the candy to correct him. Harry took a Chocolate Frog and popped it in his mouth. The nourishment was palatable.

“Thanks, Dobby.” Harry said, patting the House Elf’s many hats.

“Anytime, Mr. Harry Potter, Sir! Anytime! Is there anything else Mr. Harry Potter needs that Dobby can get him?”

“No, not really…” Harry shrugged. “We’ve actually gotta get going, you see…” He tried to explain.

“Quidditch practice is in a little bit; we need to get ready.” Ron explained.

Dobby looked down at his sock-covered feet, dejected.

“Oh. Dobby understands.” He said sadly. He turned away. “Goodbye, Mr. Harry Potter, Sir. Goodbye, Mr. Roonil Wazlib, Sir.” He said, walking off.

As they were walking back, Harry looked at Ron.

“We really need to make a point to visit him more…” He decided.

“Yeah.” Ron agreed, a Licorice Wand in his mouth. “Definitely.” He passed Harry a Cauldron Cake. “Cauldron Cake?”

“Yeah.” Harry said, taking it.

When they got back to the Common Room, Ron went back to where Hermione was on the couch, but Harry went straight to his Dormitory.

“Harry?” Hermione called him, turning around. “Where are you going?”

“I need to change my socks.” Harry deadpanned, climbing up the stairs as he spoke. He didn’t really feel like explaining to her that he felt bad for lying to Dobby.

“Why?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said, closing the door.

Hermione looked at Ron.

“What happened?” She asked, as she grabbed two Pumpkin Pasties from the bag and eating one.

“Dobby is one manipulative House Elf.” Ron revealed to Hermione. “His guilt trips are almost _pure torture_ …”

Hermione nodded with pursed lips. Harry then entered the room and sat down on the couch with Ron and Hermione. Ron looked at him.

“You feel better?” He asked, concerned.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded.

“I heard about what happened and –” Hermione started.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry repeated, cutting her off. “I mean, how can I _not_ say no to those tennis ball eyes?”

“He’s got a point.” He said. “They’re so…huge and…tennis-bally…” He put his thumbs and index fingers together and put his hands up to his eyes, trying to show eye-largeness.

Harry and Hermione laughed. Then Hermione stopped.

“Don’t you have Occo-low-mency lessons tonight?” She asked.

Harry shrugged carelessly.

“Hermione. It’s Saturday. I’m not doing Ock-co-lep-see lessons tonight; and there’s no way Snape can make me, either. Tonight is about Quidditch!” He and Ron reached over Hermione to high-five each other.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron asked, putting a few more candies in his mouth.

“Yeah, Ron?”

“Who are we up against on Saturday?” He asked.

“We’re up against Ravenclaw.” Harry shrugged.


	8. Sunday

“Come ON, everybody! Let’s GO!” Harry shouted. “BEATERS, stay over THERE! CHASERS, you’re supposed to CATCH the Quaffle, not just let it go! And RON –” Harry spun around on his broom to face his best friend. “You’re doing alright.” He decided. And it was true. Ron was blocking _everything_ that came at him – literally. Some poor bug was trying to fly through the hoop and Ron sent it plummeting towards the ground…

“Oh, come _on_!” One of the Beaters called. “He _always_ gets special treatment just cause he’s your _best friend_!”

“Hey!” Harry called back. “Are you a Slytherin? Then STOP. USING. ITALICS. And Ron’s been doing a GREAT job; the rest of you SUCK!” He yelled. Ron beamed from his broom up at the hoops. “Moving on, we should go through the game again!”

Everyone, even Ron, groaned.

“This is the _tenth_ game we’ve gone through _tonight_! And we’ve practiced almost _every day_ this _week_!” One of the Chasers whined.

“I don’t CARE! We need to get BETTER! We need to WIN on Saturday!” Harry yelled. The Gryffindors groaned. Harry sighed in frustration. “You know what?! FINE! Practice is OVER!”

In a matter of ten seconds, everyone was off the Quidditch Pitch, except for Harry and Ron. They looked at each other.

“Well… At least _I_ did good!” Ron smiled gleefully. Harry couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head.

“Come on, Ron.” Harry said. “Let’s go.”

As they were walking back to the Common Room, Ron looked at Harry.

“Hey, Harry? Why do you want us to win this match so bad?” He asked. “You’ve never been so wrapped up in a game against Ravenclaw before…”

Harry shrugged.

“I just want to win, that’s all. It’s good to win. In order to be a Gryffindor you have to win, sometime…”

“Does it have anything having to do with why Dumbledore took you to his office on Tuesday?” Ron asked.

“What?” Harry paused. “Well…yeah…kinda… But I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you…” Again, he paused. “Wait, what am I thinking? I tell you everything; no matter what Dumbledore says! He thinks Voldemort will try to attack us during the Quidditch Match.” He revealed.

Ron gasped.

“Wouldn’t Dumbledore just cancel the Match?” Ron asked.

“He would, but… It’s complicated. I have no idea, actually. But Dumbledore said I have to get the Snitch this match, so…”

Ron nodded.

“So if you don’t catch the Snitch…” Ron started.

“We lose the Match, the school gets destroyed, we all die, Voldemort takes over the world, the moon gets thrown out of orbit, the sun gets sucked into a black hole, and the universe ceases to exist.” Harry finished.

“Wow.” Ron said after a moment of mulling it over. “You’ve got a lot of weight on your shoulders, don’t you?”

“The whole fucking world.” Harry sighed. “The whole. Fucking. World.” He stopped walking once they came to a fork in the corridors. “Hey, I’ve gotta use the bathroom; you go ahead.”

“You sure, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah; I’d rather not have you watch me while I pee, thanks.” Harry said.

Ron shrugged.

“Alright, then. See you later, buddy.”

“See you in the Dormitory.” Harry said, and then they separated, going down different corridors; Ron to Gryffindor Common Room, and Harry to the bathroom.

Let’s follow Harry, shall we? We won’t miss much; Ron’ll just snog Hermione, that’s all…

Harry walked into the bathroom (not Myrtle’s) and approached a urinal. Staring up at a spider web on the ceiling, he unzipped his fly and peed into the urinal. When he was done relieving himself, he zipped up his fly and went to wash his hands. When he was just about finished washing his hands, there was a loud _crack_ ing sound coming from behind him.

Harry spun around and gasped. A person was standing behind him. And this person looked _just_. _Like_. _Him_.

“SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Harry shouted, as the other Harry pointed his wand at him.

And then –

* * *

Harry opened his eyes. He was in some sort of dark, confined, space that he had never been in before. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He chuckled to himself. Whoever attacked him forgot to take his wand. Well, _that_ was a stupid move…

“ _Lumos_!” Harry muttered. The light from the wand completely brightened the space he was in. The width and length of this room was extremely small. It was so narrow that Harry couldn’t even fully extended his arms to touch the walls, and it wasn’t even as long as his body length. But, despite all this, the ceiling was abnormally high. It was at least _seven_ Harrys tall (if Harry was a unit of measurement, of course…). “Whoa.” Harry whispered. “That is one tall ceiling…” For a minute, he was so in awe of the tallness of the ceiling that forgot about the fact that someone had attacked him and dragged him into this room (this room, Harry was beginning to realize, was in fact doorless). But then he remembered. “HEY!” He shouted. “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?”

Suddenly, someone from outside the small confined space kicked the small space. Harry jumped at the sound. Obviously, whoever was there didn’t want to hear him screaming…

* * *

Voldemort, (disguised as Harry Potter), left the room he had left the magical trunk in. He had done it. He was now in Hogwarts – right in the midst of Harry Potter’s life! …But…where to go?

 _If I was a Gryffindor, where would I be?_ Voldemort asked himself. Then he thought of it. _That’s it! The Common Room! It’s on…the seventh floor, that’s right!_ He smiled to himself as he walked down the corridor (for he was already on the seventh floor, come to find out) and to Gryffindor Common Room.

When Voldemort found the Fat Lady’s portrait, he stared at it, unsure of what exactly to do. Was he supposed to prove his bravery to this portrait or something?

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked.

“Right.” Voldemort said. “Password.” He nodded, trying to think. _Come on, Voldie; you know this. What was it? Heartworm? No, that can’t be it…Wait! I’ve got it! It’s –_ “Tapeworm.” Voldemort gave her the password, pretty confident.

“Nope.” The Fat Lady smirked. “I changed it yesterday.”

“What?! Yesterday?!” Voldemort yelled, outraged.

“Hey, keep it _down_ , will you? We’re in a _building_!” The Fat Lady exclaimed.

But Voldemort was furious. _What was I doing yesterday?! Oh, right. I spent all of yesterday making love to Bella. No time for Occococcolememinemsee._ He sighed. _Now_ how was he going to get into the Gryffindor Common Room? What’s Harry Potter without the Gryffindor Common Room?

“It – It’s Wattlebird.” Voldemort heard a voice from behind him. He spun around, and came face-to-face with…that boy…the one who was prone to anxiety attacks…Nevin? Maybe…

“What did you just call me?” Voldemort snapped.

The boy took a step back, terrified at “Harry’s” sudden anger.

“No, I – I didn’t call you anything, Harry!” He stuttered. “Th – Th – The password. It – It’s Wattlebird.” He said, taking out a piece of paper. “I – I wrote all the passwords down. Professor McGonagall says it’s a bad idea, looking back at what happened with Sirius Black… Remember that, Harry? In our third year?”

“Oh, yeah.” Voldemort said, trying to act more “Harry-Like.” “Good times, good times…”

“Um…” The boy – Voldemort was beginning to think his name was Melville – looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Sirius Black broke into the Gryffindor Dormitory and almost stabbed Ron…” The boy reminded him.

“Oh!” Voldemort said, as if remembering. “ _That_ incident, yes, I remember… Sad…” He said, nodding.

Neville gave “Harry” a funny look, but then shrugged.

“We might want to get in – it’s getting late…” The boy started.

“Right.” Voldemort nodded.

So they both gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the Common Room. The boy walked in like he had been living there the past six years. Voldemort walked in like a first year on the first day of school – he had never been in Gryffindor Common Room before; he was trying to take all the new sights and sounds in at once.

“Well, see you, Harry…” The boy said, starting to head towards the Dormitory.

“Yeah, bye.” Voldemort said vacantly, still totally distracted by the Common Room. After a moment of staring around, he watched the boy leave. And suddenly, just like that, he remembered –

“NEVILLE!” Voldemort shouted, finally remembering Neville’s name.

Neville turned around.

“Yes, Harry?”

Voldemort hadn’t meant to scream Neville’s name like that; but now that he had the undivided attention of every person in the room, he had to think of something fast.

“What was the…erm…–” This kid had an obsession of some sort over a class. But which one? Then Voldemort remembered that, too. “– Herbology homework?” He asked.

A faint smile spread across Neville’s face.

“We’re supposed to be writing an essay on the Enchanted Snapdragons.” Neville said.

Voldemort nodded.

“Cool.” He said, for _the_ Voldemort _never_ said “thank you.”

Voldemort then joined Ron and Hermione, who were in the couch where they were before (little did Voldemort know), waiting for him.

“Hey buddy!” Ron greeted him as Voldemort sat down. “What took you so long?” He asked.

“I took long?” Voldemort asked. “How long did I take?”  

“Twenty-eight minutes and forty-three seconds.” Hermione informed him; timing him, as always.

Voldemort shrugged.

“I think I got lost…” He covered. In reality, he was trying to drag an unconscious Harry Potter to the seventh floor. _I knew I should have just Apparated…_ Voldemort thought to himself.

“Lost?” Ron asked, breaking his thoughts. “Dude. We’ve been living here for _six years_ ; how do you get lost?”

“You know how the stairs move?” Voldemort asked. “Well they just. Kept. Moving. You can get stuck on there for hours…” Yet nobody knew that this happened to a young Tom Riddle about a month into his first year. He spent three hours trapped on that stairwell…

Hermione stood.

“I say it’s bedtime.” She decided, totally changing the subject. “For all of us. We have a Potions test tomorrow, and we should be well rested for it.” She left the Common Room and went up to the Girls’ Dormitory. Voldemort vaguely remembered trying to get into the Slytherin Girls’ Dormitory in his fourth year… He failed, though. Epically.

“Hermione’s right.” Ron agreed. “I don’t want to fall asleep in whatever potion Snape’s making us brew tomorrow…”

And together the two boys walked up to the Boys’ Dormitory.

When they got there, Ron went to his bed and started finding matching pajamas. Voldemort, on the other hand, stayed in the doorway, observing the beds. Which one was his?

After a moment, he looked at Ron.

“Uh…Ron?”

“Yeah?” Ron asked, looking up from his drawer.

“Um…Where do I…?” He didn’t want sound stupid, but, he couldn’t really find a way _not_ to sound stupid.

“Did you forget again?” Ron asked. Voldemort nodded. Ron sighed. “That’s awesome… Over there.” He pointed.

“Awesome.” Voldemort said, sitting on the bed Ron pointed to. It seemed much more comfortable than the beds he remembered having in the Slytherins Dormitory…

After the two boys got ready for bed, they fell asleep. Voldemort had the best night’s sleep of his life. For the first time in years, he dreamed. He dreamed of Quirinus Quirrell…


	9. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the Lucky Charms joke.

At six o’clock in the morning, Voldemort opened his eyes. At first, he had no idea where he was. He sat up. Where the fuck was he? He could barely even see straight – wait. Oh yeah, he was in Harry Potter’s body. Voldemort put on Harry Potter’s glasses and quickly (before anyone saw) took a drink of the Polyjuice Potion. It tasted like dirt and hair and some kind of plantation… But Voldemort had to do what he needed to do…

Just after Voldemort hid the potion under the bed again, Ron woke up.

“Morning, Harry.” He grumbled, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed.

“Morning.” Voldemort grumbled back. Voldemort wasn’t really sure what Potter’s morning routine was – this was way too early for him to be up.

Ron pointed the wand at himself and whitened his teeth and fixed his hair, so Voldemort did the same; thank goodness he knew the spell…

“What do we have first today?” Ron asked. “Charms?” He asked, cleaning himself via magic (as Voldemort copied him).

“Um…I thought we had Care of Magical Creatures first…” Voldemort said quietly.

“That’s right.” Neville said, joining their conversation. He was brushing his teeth the Muggle way. “Apparently we’ll be learning about Manticores today.”

“Fuck.” Ron said, taking off his night shirt and replacing it with his robes. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t bring one in…”

Neville and Voldemort nodded. Voldemort remembered having this lesson in his fifth year, and wanting a Manticore for his own. But then, not long after he graduated from Hogwarts, he found Nagini. She was just a little serpent at the time; no longer than Voldemort’s forearm…

“If he does, I’m gonna run away screaming…” Ron said, as he finished getting dressed. As Voldemort was listening, he was finishing getting dressed, as well. Neville already was dressed, and was just waiting for everyone else. “You with me?” He asked.

Neville and Voldemort nodded.

“Me too!” Seamus Finnigan said, also entering the conversation. “I’d rather go to an Arithmancy class than deal with a _Manticore_.” Voldemort couldn’t really understand how _anyone_ could rather Arithmancy over a Manticore… Wait. These were Gryffindors. Never mind. “We should get goin down to breakfast, yeah? I hope they have Lucky Charms!” Seamus clapped his hands excitedly and started to leave; Dean Thomas followed.

Then, Ron stood. Voldemort did the same. Neville was already standing. “But Seamus is right; let’s go.”

And so the three boys left to go to the Great Hall.

The food. The _food_. It was almost as good as sex. Voldemort missed the food the most, but he didn’t even know this until he bit into his first bacon strip. Then he was in Heaven on Earth. As Ron and Hermione conversed about the homework Ron couldn’t do but Hermione could, Voldemort ate more than Harry ever had. Suddenly, a younger Ravenclaw girl sat down between Hermione and Neville.

“Good morning.” The girl – that Looney girl…That’s right: Luna – said dreamily. “Today is National Riddle Day.” As a habit, Voldemort looked up at the sound his old name. Then he realized what Luna meant. But Luna caught him looking at her. “Would you like to hear a riddle?” She asked.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Ron cut in. “ _National_? I’ve never heard of this ‘National Riddle Day’ before in my life!” Come to think of it, Voldemort hadn’t either. And he would know, for he had spent years upon years finding a day where there wasn’t _any_ holidays in the _entire_ world so he could have a world-wide Lord Voldemort Day. But still, he had never heard of National Riddle Day in his life.

“Daddy says so – it’s in the Quibbler.” Luna informed him. She then turned back to “Harry.” “Would you like to hear a riddle?” She repeated.

“Sure…” Voldemort said, trying to be as Harry-Like as possible.

“Excellent.” She smiled, then asked the question. “How is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Edgar Allan Poe wrote on both.” Voldemort answered quickly, then he covered his mouth. How the _fuck_ did he know that? Wait. He read Alice In Wonderland at the orphanage (he stole the book from a little girl from the girl’s orphanage across the street and decided to read it before burning it), and he spent years trying to find the answer.

Luna smiled.

“You’re good at riddles; _nobody_ in _Ravenclaw_ has been able to guess that.” She said. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to be in Ravenclaw, Harry?” She asked.

Voldemort snorted.

“Now in what alternative universe would something like that happen?” Voldemort asked.

“Oh, come on, Harry.” Hermione said. “Be rational; you could have ended up anywhere.” She pointed out with a shrug.

“But he ended up _here_.” Ron said, putting his arm around “Harry” and mussing his hair with his knuckle.

“You could have ended up in Ravenclaw, too, Hermione…” Luna pointed out, turning to her.

Hermione nodded.

“I know.” She said. “But I’m friends with these two –” She gestured to Harry and Ron. “– So I have to be brave.”

“Ah.” Luna nodded understandingly. Then she paused. “Would _you_ like to hear a riddle?” She asked.

“Alright.” Hermione said, confident.

“Wonderful!” Luna beamed. “You’re really smart so I’ll give you a hard one: What’s green, hangs on a wall, and whistles?” Hermione opened her mouth, about to speak, but then closed it. Voldemort mulled over Luna’s riddle, but he couldn’t think of a single thing that fit all of the criteria, either. “Do you give in?” Luna asked.

Hermione huffed. She didn’t like the idea of giving in.

“Well…kind of, not _really_ … I mean, I’m sure I’ll know it when you tell me what it is…” She said quietly.

“It’s a herring.” Luna said, giving her the answer.

Hermione did a half-nod, but then looked at Luna, confused.

“But a herring isn’t green.” She pointed out.

“You could paint it green.” Luna suggested calmly.

“But a herring doesn’t hang on a wall.” Hermione continued.

“You could nail it to a wall.” Luna suggested, still as calm as ever.

“But a _herring_. _Doesn’t. Whistle._ ” Hermione said, getting more and more frustrated with every word.

“Come on.” Luna said, still as calm as ever. “I just put that in to stop it from being too obvious.” She explained.

Hermione glared at her oatmeal.

“That’s a stupid riddle it doesn’t even make sense…” She muttered so quietly Luna barely heard her. Or, Luna chose to ignore her.

“Does anybody else want to hear a riddle?” She asked. Everyone within earshot shook their heads. Luna shrugged. “Alright, then.” She said, getting up from the seat she was sitting in. “I’ll see you later then.” Waving, she skipped off.

Voldemort watched Luna leave. She was so weird…but her mind…so obscure… But then Voldemort went back to filling his face.

* * *

That day seemed alright; nobody suspected anything. Even Hagrid, who was the first member of the Hogwarts Staff to meet Harry Potter, didn’t realize that his precious “Harry Potter” wasn’t himself. Even Ron and Hermione, Harry Potter’s best friends, had no idea that their best friend was not as he seemed.

But. There’s always a but.

 _But_ , _one_ person _did_ see _straight_ through “Harry” and _see_ the Voldemort that dwelled _within_ him.

After class, Voldemort and the sixth years shoved their textbooks and parchment into their bags and started to leave the classroom. Suddenly, Voldemort heard Harry Potter’s name.

“Harry _Potter_.” Someone called him. Voldemort looked up. Severus Snape was sitting behind his desk, staring at him. “Can you _come_ up _here_?” He asked.

“Yes, Sir.” Voldemort said. It felt weird to call his follower/servant “Sir.” He looked back at Ron and Hermione, as they stared back at him as if deer in the headlights. “You go ahead.” He told them, and they started to leave. He walked up to the front of Snape’s desk.

“Your _behavior_ in _class_ today was _obscene_.” Snape informed him.

“I hope we’re both thinking of the same definition…” Voldemort said quietly.

“If you mean _offensive_ , then _yes_.” Snape said. He looked behind Voldemort to find that all the students have left. He then looked up at Voldemort. “I was just _kidding_ ; your behavior was better than _Potter’s_ _ever_ was…”

Voldemort smirked.

“So you knew.” He said. Snape nodded. “What gave me away?”

Snape shrugged.

“Your _walk_.”

“My _walk_?” Voldemort repeated.

“ _You_ walk as if you’re about to take over the _world_. _Potter_ walks like he’s going to _save_ it.” Snape explained.

“Ah…” Voldemort nodded. Then he paused. “Wait, there’s a difference?”

Snape shrugged again.

“ _Obviously_ …They _are_ _opposites_ …” Snape informed him.

“Touché…” Voldemort said. “So, I have to improve my walk. What else?” Voldemort asked.

“Well, _Potter_ is a _loud mouth_. You _really_ have to _talk_ more. And _not_ just to say ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ and ‘uh’ like you were _all_ of _class_. You must _speak your thoughts_.”

“…But if I spoke my _real_ thoughts everyone would know that I’m _not_ Potter.” Voldemort pointed out.

“Not _your_ thoughts; speak _Potter_ ’s thoughts.”

Voldemort paused, mulling over Snape’s words.

“So…‘I’m an over-confident git who is fond of unicorns but fancies the Weasley girl.’ How’s that?” Voldemort tried thinking like Harry.

“ _Very_ accurate.” Snape nodded in approval. “But, for _future_ references, the Weasley girl’s _name_ is _Ginny_.” He informed Voldemort.

Voldemort paused.

“…Where did I get _Jenny_ from?” He asked aloud. Snape shrugged. “Moving on… There’s a Quidditch Match soon, right?”

“ _Yes_. On _Saturday_.”

“And… _I_ have to be the Seeker, right?” He asked.

“ _Yes_.” Snape nodded.

Voldemort didn’t want to be the Seeker. Or the Keeper or the Beaters or the Chasers. He wanted _nothing_ to do with Quidditch. He was terrified of flying. He remembered his Flying Lessons in his first year; he only hovered two feet off the ground, then he went back down and called it a day. He got a Dreadful in that class… But to be in a _Quidditch Match_ …out of the question.

“Who normally replaces Potter if he can’t go to a game?” He asked.

“Ginny _Weasley_.” Snape answered.

Voldemort took a few steps away from the desk and towards the door.

“I’ve got to talk to her…” He turned and left the Potions room without another word.

* * *

When he reached the Common Room he found Ginny sitting at a table in the corner, working on something. Even though he could plainly see Ron and Hermione snogging across the room, he approached her. As he came closer he saw that she was doodling flowers and rainbows and other girly things on a piece of parchment. He also saw a heart with HP + GW scrawled in the middle.

“Ginny?” Voldemort called her name quietly when he got close enough.

Ginny jumped at the sound of her name and quickly covered the paper her doodles were on with a small stack of blank papers, blushing furiously.

“Harry!” She smiled, still embarrassed. “Hi, Harry! Er…what’s up?”

“I have a question, Ginny.” Voldemort said, not being one for small talk.

“Okay, what is it?” She asked, playing with her hair, as if trying to impress “Harry.” Voldemort was sure he was going to crash Ginny’s hopes.

“On Saturday…” Voldemort started. “…I – I can’t play Quidditch on Saturday. Do you think you could…–?”

“You want me to play Seeker?” She asked. Voldemort could hear the sadness in her voice.

“Yeah, I kind of need you to. I haven’t been feeling too good lately…” Voldemort said quietly. “I think I have a head cold or something…”

“ _That_ sucks…” Ginny said. “But yeah, I’ll play Seeker. I hope you’ll feel better, Harry…” She said, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, me too.” He said. “See you around, Ginny.”

“Yeah, bye, Harry…” Ginny said quietly as Voldemort walked off and over to the still-snogging Ron and Hermione. Ginny looked back down at the heart she had drawn, dejected. She picked up her quill and scribbled it out.

As Voldemort got closer to the snogging couple, Hermione saw “Harry” first and pulled herself away from Ron.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.

“I can’t play Quidditch on Saturday. I got this really bad head cold and it’s just…murdering me…” Voldemort explained.

“Do you think it’s from the potion we made today?” Ron asked. “Cause I _think_ I’m getting sick from it…I don’t know, though…”

“Snape _told_ us not to inhale it…” Hermione recalled. “This must have been why.”

“It smelt so good, though…” Voldemort trailed off as Ron nodded, agreeing. Voldemort always liked the smell of lilac for some reason…

Hermione sighed.

“You guys are _so_ hopeless…”


	10. Tuesday

“I _still_ don’t get it!” Hermione exclaimed that morning over breakfast in the Great Hall. “ _How_ could the answer be a _herring_?” She asked, confused. “A _herring_! It doesn’t make any _sense_!” She exclaimed.

“Hermione.” Ron assured his girlfriend. “It’s Luna. Don’t think about it. That’s what _I_ do and look at me!”

Voldemort nodded.

“I haven’t thought of it at all, and I’m not nearly as fussy as you…” He said, speaking his mind as Snape instructed him to.

Hermione shot a death glare at Voldemort.

“I am _not_. Fussy.” She said, still glaring.

Voldemort sat back.

“Never mind…” _Note to self: Speak your mind, just not about Granger…_ Voldemort made a mental note in his head.

“Mr. Potter?” Voldemort heard a voice behind him. He spun around. There stood Albus Dumbledore. “May I speak to you for a moment in my office?”

“Sure.” Voldemort said, standing.

Again, Dumbledore led the way to his office. He said the password to the gargoyles (Voldemort was very offended by the password, by the way), went inside his office, and the two sat down.

“I heard about the Match.” Dumbledore said quietly, as if they were discussing a secret yet important issue.

Voldemort had totally forgotten that Dumbledore had specifically assigned Harry to catch the Snitch on Saturday.

“I’m not feeling good, Professor.” Voldemort lied. “I’ll just tell Ginny that –”

“If I wanted Miss Weasley to catch the Snitch I would have told her instead of you, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore informed him. “I need _you_ to catch this Snitch.”

Voldemort sighed.

“I can’t. I’m sick. I feel horrible and I will feel the same on Saturday. Ginny’s good at being a Seeker. Even if I _don’t_ tell her that the fate of the school rests in that Snitch she’d catch it anyway.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a funny look, similar to the one Neville gave him Sunday night. But he, like Neville, didn’t say anything as to _why_ they were making that face.

“So you _want_ to put the entire school in danger?”

 _Yes! Yes, yes, YES!_ Voldemort yelled inside his head.

“No.” He said, contradicting his thoughts.

Dumbledore sighed.

“I am putting my faith in you by trusting Ginny Weasley to do _your_ job; do you understand?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Dumbledore sighed again and shrugged.

“Alright, then. You’re free to go to class.”

Without another word, Voldemort stood up and left the office. Yet, as he passed the Sorting Hat, it spoke so quietly that only Voldemort could hear.

“ _Slytherin_ …”

Voldemort took a double take at the Hat, but then disregarded it. Stupid Hat; it didn’t know anything…

As Voldemort walked down to his Transfiguration class, he felt someone’s presence behind him. Voldemort stopped and turned around. Draco Malfoy was doing the electric slide down the hallway.

“Malfoy.” Voldemort greeted him. “You’re still dancing, I see…” He observed.

“Yeah, I am…” Malfoy said, as if he had just noticed, sliding up to him. “Have you found my shoes yet?” He asked.

Voldemort stared at Malfoy. Shit, he had _totally_ forgotten about that… And, come to think of it, if Voldemort didn’t get Malfoy’s shoes, he would tell Dumbledore what happened, and when Dumbledore finds out, he would find the _real_ Harry Potter and expose Voldemort as a fraud. Thus, he wouldn’t be able to kill Harry Potter, and when The Boss finds _this_ out, she’ll surely spill the beans of Hillary Duff…

“I’ve been looking everywhere in Potter’s Dormitory but I haven’t found it.” Voldemort lied. “I’ll continue searching tonight.” _More like_ start _searching tonight…_ Voldemort thought to himself. Then he realized something. “Wait. How’d you know –”

“Sir.” Malfoy said, stepping closer. The enchanted shoes couldn’t think of any type of dance to incorporate into that one step other than what looked to be some kind of stripper dance… “I am a _Death Eater_. Death Eaters _know_ these things…” He paused. “Facenisnisnisnisnisnisnis! I’d better get to class!”

He started to run off, but instead he did a very quickly-paced rendition of the cha-cha…

Voldemort rolled his eyes at the use of “Facenisnisnisnisnisnisnis,” knowing it would never become a thing, yet he walked slowly behind him, knowing that Harry Potter would be caught dead anywhere within a ten-foot radius of Draco Malfoy…

* * *

That night, Voldemort (after drinking a bit of the Polyjuice Potion to keep his disguise intact) started his search for Malfoy’s shoes. Ron walked in on him as he looked under Harry’s bed.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

Voldemort jumped up.

“Nothing!” He said quickly.

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” Ron said, crossing his arms. “Come on, Harry. What are you doing?”

“Looking for something…” Voldemort said, trying to act as innocent and Harry-Like as possible.

Ron uncrossed his arms and walked up to the foot of Harry’s bed.

“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help…” Ron smiled hopefully, ready to help “Harry” fulfill his task…the one that Ron couldn’t help fulfill at all…

“My…my, erm…” Voldemort paused, thinking of a cover up. “…my glasses. I’m looking for my glasses.” He said, coming up with what he thought was a good lie.

“Um…Harry?” Ron said, as if questioning “Harry’s” sanity. “Your glasses are on your face…” He informed him.

Voldemort took off Harry’s glasses and looked at them, acting surprised.

“Well, will you look at that?” He exclaimed. “Silly me!” He laughed, putting them back on.

Ron chuckled.

“Smooth move, Smart One…” Ron said, helping “Harry” up from the ground. “Now that _that’s_ over, I say we go to bed. Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Voldemort nodded. “Bed.”

And so they went to bed. And, again, for the third night in a row, Voldemort dreamed of Quirinus Quirrell…


	11. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to what I'm pretty sure is the most wtf chapter of this whole thing, written so long ago by past-me that present-me has no idea where the plot is going.

That morning, in the Great Hall, the Teachers and the Staff were all in tears. And Dumbledore was not sitting in his place up at the Head Table. Voldemort looked around the tables of students. Everyone around him was confused. He looked at Ron and Hermione.

“What happened?” He asked.

They both shrugged.

Luna came skipping (as always) to the Gryffindor table. She squeezed in between Ron and Hermione.

“Does anyone know what happened?” She asked, still as calm as usual. She looked about the ceiling. “I think it’s an Umgubular Slashkilter up to no good…” She looked at “Harry’s” confused face. “They look like pirates, you see, but they’re _green_ and nastier. They’re much smaller, too. And they can fly…” She began to go on, but then Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium.

“Attention! Attention all students!” She called out through tears. Everyone in the room stopped talking – stopped _breathing_ – to listen to her. “This morning…at one-twenty-one in the morning…Professor Dumbledore… _died_ …in his sleep…” Her voice was shaking as she revealed this news.

A simultaneous gasp rang out from the majority of the students. Voldemort, trying to be as Harry-Like as possible, joined the gasp a little too late. Yet, his mind only could think one thought: _No way!_ I _wanted to do it!_ He glanced around the table. Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville all were crying at this point, and Ron was fighting back tears. Voldemort tried to make tears appear in his eyes… He thought about Quirinus’ death until he could make a tear fall.

“I know this may be a shock to you all but…when people get old…they die…” She went on. “Yet, despite the tragic event, Professor Dumbledore wrote in his will that the Quidditch Match on Saturday must go on, for, even the hardest of times, we must learn to smile and have a good time…”

 _Or to have Potter/Weasley/whoever catch the Snitch…_ Voldemort thought.

“Also…” McGonagall continued. “…Even though _I_ am the Deputy Headmistress…Professor Dumbledore requested in his will that Professor _Snape_ would be the new Headmaster…” She turned to Snape, and Snape stood and approached the podium.

“The _loss_ of Professor _Dumbledore_ is very _tragic_ …Yet, as he _requested_ for us to do in _his will_ , we must learn to _smile_ and _live_ our _lives_.” Voldemort found it very amusing how someone like _Snape_ (who _never_ smiles) could possibly say something like that… “The _funeral_ will be taken place on _Sunday_ – the day _after_ the _Quidditch Match_ …”

 _They won’t have the time to mourn for Dumbledore once I’m through with Harry Potter on Saturday…_ Voldemort thought to himself.

“ _Today_ , on the _other hand_ , you will have a _free day_ to _mourn_ and to _recollect_ yourselves for _tomorrow_.” Snape paused. “You are all _dismissed_.” He concluded.

After a few moments for the students to let it sink in, the students, a few at a time, got up and left the Great Hall, many in tears. After about ten minutes, Ron was the first to stand. Voldemort was second, Luna was third, Neville was fourth, and Hermione and Ginny stood up together. And, together, they walked to the seventh floor (except for Luna, who left them at the fifth floor to go to the Ravenclaw Common Room).

“It’s so…I don’t understand!” Hermione cried, once they got into the common room and had sat down around the fire.

“If you say one word about a herring, I’ll –” Voldemort started, trying to be Harry-Like, but Hermione chose to ignore him.

“It’s just so sudden! I thought he was working with Nicolas Flamel! I thought he had some of the Sorcerer’s Stone’s power!”

“Maybe it fades after a while…” Ron started, but then, suddenly, there was a gigantic _CRASH_ coming from the window. Everyone looked to see some owl had crashed into it. “ _Errol_ …” Ron growled, getting up. He came back shortly after letting Errol go, with a copy of the Daily Prophet. “ _How_ do they know?” He asked, sitting back down and showing Voldemort, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny the front page: Dumbledore and Flamel Die at Age 673 Years Old. “ _How_ the _fuck_ do they know these things? They had these _published_ before we even _knew_ …” Suddenly, he looked at the side table next to the couch. There, just near the edge closest to Ron, sat a beetle, no larger than his thumbnail. He crushed it with the backside of the paper. “Fucking bugs…” He grumbled, then he paused. “Oh. Oh shit. I just murdered Rita Skeeter…” He whispered.

Hermione, who was still crying, resting her head on Ron’s shoulder, pulled her head up to reach Ron’s ear.

“We won’t tell if you don’t.” She promised him in a whisper.

Ron paused, mulling over Hermione’s words.

“Did I say Rita Skeeter? I meant…a Sweeta Beetle. Their juices are used in some of the best potions…”

“Really?” Neville asked, and the group chuckled a little bit. “…What?” Neville asked, making the group laugh a little bit harder. Then he understood. “…Oh. There’s such thing as a Sweeta Beetle, is there?” He asked.

The group shook their heads.

“But no one will know there is unless you tell them.” Ginny, who was sitting next to Voldemort, laughed.

“I won’t tell – promise!” Neville assured them.

Voldemort was a little thankful that Rita Skeeter was dead. She had been trying to dig up the Hillary Duff story for _years_ … Now he didn’t have to worry about _her_ anymore…


	12. Thursday

The next day resumed as normal. Some students were still a bit shaken up over the death of Dumbledore, but all of them were okay enough to function as human beings for the day. Many of them (including Voldemort, who was trying to act Harry-Like) wore nothing but black. Voldemort was amazed to find that Harry owned black socks.

Luna approached the Great Hall table quietly, sitting between Harry and Ron.

“I told you.” She said quietly, looking at “Harry.” “It _was_ an Umgubular Slashkilter.” She informed him. “It killed Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel and kidnapped Rita Skeeter, too…”

Behind her, Ron looked very guilty and uncomfortable.

“Fucking bugs…” He whispered. Luna ignored him.

“I think they want her to write a story about them in the Daily Prophet.” Luna continued. “They kidnapped Daddy once – that’s how they got into the Quibbler.” She explained. “They kept him for about a week, making him eat only bugs and lizards…” She trailed off, then she looked back at “Harry’s” confused expression. “Don’t worry; they let him go unharmed. But Rita Skeeter’s a very non-negotiable woman – I think they’ll keep her for a month or two before she caves…”

 _Or forever. There’s always that option._ Voldemort thought.

“Right.” He said. “She’ll be back soon, I’m sure…”

* * *

Yet, as I said before, that day went on like normal. The classes were all just repeats of what Voldemort had learned before, so this gave him the chance to slack off…thus getting the _real_ Harry Poors and Dreadfuls in class…but Voldemort didn’t care about that. The only class he _actually_ cared about was Potions with Professor Snape. Even though it was all things he had done before, he tried his best to give Snape his full attention. And, since last Monday (with the exception of Wednesday), Snape had kept him after class to talk to him about how his personality could be more Harry-Like.

“And _Potter_ doesn’t have a _blank_ expression, as you _do_. No _offence_ , Sir, _I_ would have a _blank_ expression, _too_ if _I_ were _disguised_ as _Harry Potter_ …”

“What expression does he wear, then?” Voldemort asked.

“He wears one of _arrogance_ and of _overconfidence_.” Snape explained. “And he is _very_ overly- _dramatic_ over his _arrogance_ and his _overconfidence_ …”

Voldemort mused over Snape’s words.

“So…like… _this_?” He asked, sitting up straight and staring off heroically into the distance. He felt pretty foolish, but if this is what Harry Potter did, he’d have to do it to, just to keep his cover.

“ _Yes_.” Snape nodded in approval. “ _Just_ like _that_.”

“…And I hold this pose _all the time_?” Voldemort asked. His pose was _ridiculous_! He couldn’t hold it _all the time_!

“ _Potter_ does.” Snape informed him.

Voldemort sighed. If Potter did it, he _had_ to… He didn’t want his cover to be blown and for The Boss to spill the beans about Hillary Duff…

Snape looked at the clock.

“ _You_ should be getting _back_ to the _Gryffindor_ Common Room; _Weasley_ and _Granger_ are probably _waiting_ for you…” He informed Voldemort.

Voldemort stood.

“Right.” He said, turning. Then he paused and turned back.

“Severus…You’re really good with kids, you know…” He complimented him on his teaching skills.

“I _am_?” Snape asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” Voldemort assured him. “Well, better than I would be. Half the time I want to just use _Avada Kedavra_ on Potter’s friends…”

Snape _almost_ half-smiled, as if touched by Voldemort’s words. Voldemort was sure that Snape had never received a compliment before; just as Snape thought that Voldemort had never _given_ a compliment before. Somewhere, deep, deep down in Snape’s little, itty-bitty organ that was called his heart, he was touched that Voldemort had chosen _him_ to be the first person he ever complimented.

“Go _back_ to the _Common Room_.” He instructed him, and Voldemort left.


	13. Friday

The next morning, Ron and Ginny were talking about the Quidditch Match that was going to happen the next day, as Voldemort listened, wearing his best “Harry Face.”

“– And you’ve got the Starfish and Stick perfected, Ron; Marietta’s really good; you might have to use that when it comes to her…” Ginny told her brother.

Ron nodded.

“And Cho’s good at Wronski Feints, so watch out for her…” Ron warned her.

Ginny kinda made a “psh” kinda noise, smirking.

“Wronski Feints? I am the _queen_ of Wronski Feints. I don’t even think they should _call_ it Wronski Feints. It should be called _Ginny Weasley_ Feints.” Ginny bragged.

No, Voldemort had _no_ idea _whatsoever_ what Ron and Ginny were talking about. But, he was supposed to be Harry Potter, so he tried his best.

“You? Wronski Feints? I can do the best Wronski Feints.” Voldemort bragged, trying to be bad ass.

Ron and Ginny stared at him, confused.

“Harry…” Ron started.

“You’ve never done a Wronski Feint in your life…” Ginny completed.

Voldemort looked back at his plate.

“Oh. Right.” He said quietly.

Ron and Ginny looked at each other, exchanged confused looks, and then went back to talking Quidditch.

About five minutes later, Luna joined the table, squeezing between Ginny and Hermione.

“So, it’s tomorrow.” She announced, even though everyone already knew. She looked at Ginny. “Who do you think will win?”

“No offense to you, Luna, but I think Gryffindor’s going to win.” Ginny shrugged in an “I-hate-to-say-it-but-we-both-know-it’s-true” kind of way.

Luna also shrugged, but more in an “I-don’t-want-to-agree-with-you-but-we-both-know-you’re-right” kind of way.

“I know. The Ravenclaw team kind of…” She looked past Harry and Ron and at the Ravenclaw table. “…well, they kinda suck.” She admitted. “The only player on the team that’s _good_ is Cho Chang…” She shrugged again. “…but she’s not even that good.” She looked back at Ginny. “Gryffindor will win for sure.”

“Damn right.” Ginny smiled proudly.

Voldemort smiled. He was now solely confident in Ginny catching the Snitch. And then, maybe, she’ll pass it to “Harry” and then the fate of the school would lie in his hands…

Again, Luna looked at her table.

“But I have to root for them…” She sighed sadly.

“Don’t worry; when we win, we’ll sneak you into Gryffindor Common Room so you can party with us.” Ginny said, winking.

Luna smiled, thankful.

“I can’t wait.”

Voldemort couldn’t help but think they _wouldn’t_ have any time to party when he was done with them all…

* * *

That evening, after a long day of classes, Voldemort, Ron, and Hermione sat in the Common Room. Ron was whipping Voldemort’s ass at Wizard Chess (even though the _real_ Harry Potter would give Ron’s Wizard Chess skills a run for his money…).

“Ugh!” Voldemort gasped Harry-Likely as Ron took Voldemort’s King for the fifth time that night. “You win again!”

“So…Harry.” Hermione started awkwardly, trying to move this story along. “Are you excited for the Quidditch Match tomorrow?” She asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Voldemort nodded. “Very excited. ‘Go, go, Gryffindor’ and stuff…”

“Are you feeling any better?” Ron asked. “Maybe you can play tomorrow…” He suggested, excited. Even though he had faith in his little sister, he liked Harry playing Seeker better.

“I can’t.” Voldemort snapped a little too quickly. “I’m not feeling better at all. I think I’m getting worse…” He put his hand to his head and tried to look faint.

“But you need to catch the Snitch, right?” Ron asked. “For Dumbledore?”

Voldemort paused. He wasn’t exactly sure how to cover for this…and why did Harry tell _Ron_ , anyway?

“He trusts Ginny with the job.” Voldemort explained. “He said so himself.”

“Wait – what are you two talking about?” Hermione asked.

“Harry needs to catch the Snitch for Gryffindor.” Ron explained.

“Why?” She asked.

“Well…erm…You-Know-Who is supposedly planning to come after Harry that day…” Ron tried to explain, even though he was unsure of what exactly was going on…

“Voldemort, I hate that guy.” Voldemort said, glaring at the chess board, trying to sound Harry-Like and disgusted. “But I don’t really think Dumbledore’s right.” He started, trying to keep Ron and Hermione from finding out who “Harry” really was. “I mean, how can he just _frolic_ onto the Quidditch Pitch? Someone would catch him before he got even halfway to Hogwarts…” In his mind, he was laughing. _That’s WRONG! I’m INSIDE Hogwarts! Talking to YOU!_ He thought. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that Voldemort had seen twice before; once on Dumbledore and once on Neville. Yet, no one was explaining _why_ they were making that face… His thoughts changed. _What’s with that look? What’s going on?_ Suddenly, he panicked. _THEY KNOW! THEY_ KNOW _I’M NOT_ HARRY POTTER _! I’ve gotta get outta here before I screw myself even more…_ He stood up and stretched. “Well, it’s getting kinda late, don’t you think? We should be getting to bed…” He started to leave. “Night, Ron; night, Hermione…” And he was gone in a flash.

Ron looked at Hermione.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with Harry?” He asked his girlfriend.

“A little bit…” Hermione admitted. “Why? What makes you say that?” She asked.

“Harry never uses italics…” Ron informed her, and then they both looked at the door that “Harry” had just left through. They knew one thing and one thing for sure. That. Wasn’t. Harry.


	14. Saturday

Voldemort had forgotten how much of a big thing Quidditch was to Hogwarts. When he and the other Gryffindors walked into the Great Hall that morning, the Ravenclaws and the Ravenclaw-supporting Hufflepuffs booed and hissed at them (the Slytherins weren’t there yet). The school was completely split, and Gryffindors did not have the advantage. The Gryffindors and half of Hufflepuff were rooting for the Gryffindors, and all the Ravenclaws, all the Slytherins, and half the Hufflepuffs were rooting for the Ravenclaws. Luna didn’t even venture from the Ravenclaw table to the Gryffindor table that morning. The Hufflepuff table was split in half – the Gryffindor supporters on one side and the Ravenclaw supporters on the other. Friends who were on different sides were enemies; enemies who were on the same side were friends. Sports rivalry made no sense.

Ron and Ginny and the other players were going over their game plan over breakfast, and everyone but Ron was asking “Harry” for advice on their game… Voldemort just switched back and forth through “yes” and “no,” trying to please them…

“Harry, should we all stay to the East side?” Demelza Robins asked “Harry.”

“No.” Voldemort answered.

She nodded, rethinking her plan.

“You know what? You’re right – we’d be much better on the West…” She decided, and then went back to the team.

Ron looked at “Harry.”

“They’d be much better on the East, you know…”

“We would?” Voldemort asked, trying to act as Harry-Like has humanly possible (especially after last night’s mishap). “We would, wouldn’t we? Robins!”

Demelza looked at “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve changed my mind; keep to the East side, will you?” He requested. Demelza nodded and went back to talking to the team. “She’s really acting like the Captain today, isn’t she?” Voldemort observed.

“Well you aren’t.” Ron said coldly, turning away from him to Demelza.

Voldemort looked at his empty plate. He was so embarrassed and afraid that the mishap would screw his plan up that he had worked so hard to put into motion that he couldn’t eat, even though it was Hogwarts’ delicious food…

 _Yet it doesn’t matter that Weasley knows that I’m not his precious Harry Potter._ Voldemort couldn’t help but think. _By the end of today the world will be mine, and whatever Weasley thinks now won’t matter…_

* * *

Exactly ten minutes before twelve noon, every student was out at the Quidditch Pitch, waiting for the match to begin. With the exception of two students. Voldemort had thought that Ron and Hermione ditched him to have a quick make-out session before the game, but he was wrong.

Ron and Hermione were on the seventh floor of Hogwarts, in front of the Room of Requirement.

“What should we think?” Ron asked, staring at the wall.

Hermione started walking by the wall.

“I need the place where everything is hidden.” Hermione said, walking by him. So then Ron started thinking the same, and followed Hermione’s path. When Hermione was done and Ron was on his third time passing the room, the door appeared.

Ron and Hermione looked at the door, then each other.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Ron asked.

“No, not at all.” Hermione said quietly. “But it’s worth a try.”

* * *

“HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!” Harry shouted on the top of his lungs for about the millionth time that day. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was still alive with the lack of food, but it didn’t matter to him, as long as it moved the story along. So Harry was screaming insanely for help. “SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” He screamed. He banged on the walls of the small space. “CAN ANYBODY FUCKING HEAR ME?”

Suddenly, he heard two voices screaming simultaneously coming from somewhere outside the space…

* * *

“Hermione!” Ron whispered.

“What?” Hermione (who was not too far; she was looking in a cabinet of some sort) asked, turning.

“Listen!” Ron hissed.

They both stood in silence. And then –

“CAN ANYBODY FUCKING HEAR ME???” They heard someone screaming from somewhere beyond in the room. It was muffled and seeming to come from far away, but it was incredibly recognizable.

“HARRY!” Ron and Hermione screamed in simultaneous delight, breaking into a dead run towards the sound of the voice.

* * *

Harry started screaming at the voices. He knew these voices like the back of his hand. Ron. Hermione. They found him. Finally.

“RON! HERMIONE!” He screamed. He heard them yelling from outside the room he was in.

“It’s a _magical trunk_!” Hermione exclaimed. “Don’t worry, Harry! I know what to do! Stand back, Ron! _Alohomora_!” She shouted.

Harry looked around.

 _Door, door, door…_ Harry thought, looking around the room. _Where the fuck is the door?_ He thought. And then, suddenly, as if the sky opened up and angels gave Harry a sign from above –

* * *

“HARRY!” Hermione shouted, looking down from outside the trunk.

Harry looked up.

“HERMIONE! RON!” He screamed. “I’m so fucking glad you guys found me I could’ve DIED in here!”

“Oh, come on.” Hermione sighed. “If you were going to die you would’ve done so already.” She looked somewhere behind her. “Ron! Pass me that rope!” She ordered.

Ron left Harry’s sight and then returned, throwing one end of the rope he had found down into the trunk. Gripping tightly, he and Hermione pulled him out.

When Harry was out, he bro-hugged Ron and then hugged Hermione friendly-like.

“You’ll never believe what happened!” Harry exclaimed. “Someone who looked just like me attacked me and threw me down there! I think it was Voldemort!” He tried to say it all quickly, but Hermione interrupted him.

“We know – he’s been fooling us since Sunday night!” She cut in.

“Dude! He totally pulled a Doctor!” Ron exclaimed.

“You mean a Barty Crouch Jr.?” Harry corrected him.

“Yeah that one.” Ron nodded.

Harry paused for a moment.

“Wait – Sunday? How long was I in there? What day is it?” He asked. He turned and grabbed Ron’s shoulders. “WHAT DAY IS IT? HOW MUCH OF THE STORY HAVE I MISSED?”

“Today’s Saturday, Harry –” Ron started.

“Saturday?!” Harry shouted. “SATURDAY! THE MATCH! I’VE GOTTA CATCH THAT FUCKING SNITCH!” He screamed, and he ran headlong for the Quidditch Pitch, with Ron and Hermione tailing behind.

* * *

Even though Harry was very hungry and needed to go to the bathroom fairly badly, he knew that keeping the story going was more important. He stormed into the changing room for the Gryffindor Team, his eyes searching for his look-alike that was really Voldemort. But, instead, he found –

“Ginny?” Harry asked, confused. What was _Ginny_ doing there? As Ron pushed past Harry to get ready, Harry walked over to Ginny. “Ginny – why are you here?”

“You said you wanted me to –” She started.

“No spoilers!” Harry exclaimed. Then he rested his hand on her shoulder. “Ginny, no matter what I said to you anytime between last Sunday night and now, I didn’t mean it. That wasn’t me. I’ll explain everything later, but for now…why are you here?”

“You…not _you_ …the other you…said that he needed me to play Seeker…he said he’s been sick lately…”

“So I’m – he’s – I’m up in the stands, then?” Harry asked.

“Yes.” Ginny nodded.

Harry sighed, thinking. If he didn’t get the Snitch, Voldemort would…but if he fought him in the stands, he wouldn’t get the Snitch…

“Ginny. Go back to the stands. Stay as far away from me as humanly possible. He’ll be gone by the end of today.”

“Wait – if you two go off fighting…” Ginny paused, looked away, swallowed, and looked back up at him. “How will I know that it’s really you if you win up against him?” She asked. “What if you don’t make it and he tries to make me believe it’s _you_ or something…?”

“I’ll be the one who remembers that I got you the necklace you’re wearing for your birthday this past year.” He informed her. “Now go – before the game starts!” He ordered, and Ginny started running off. “Stay with Neville!” He called after her.

She turned around.

“Neville? But if he has a _panic attack_ or something –”

“He can kill a snake.” Harry informed her. “He’s bad ass.”

Ginny, seeming confused, nodded and ran out of the tent. Harry quickly got changed into his Quidditch robes and called the team together.

“Guys! Okay! Erm…I have no idea what I’ve been telling you guys since Sunday after practice, but disregard all of it. That wasn’t me and… It’ll all make sense later.” He said. “So whatever I said since that practice…it doesn’t matter. Do what _we_ planned.”

“So stick to the West?” Demelza Robins asked.

“No, stay to the East side.” Harry corrected her.

“And we can crush some skulls with our bats?” A Beater asked.

“No!” Harry reprimanded him. “These are Ravenclaws! We can’t do that – we’ll all get expelled!” He paused. “Besides, we should really wait for the Slytherins to do that…” He looked around the group of players. “Just do what we’ve practiced, kay?”

“Okay!” The Team chorused.

“Alright!” Harry smiled. “Let’s GO!”

As they left the tent, the Team saw that it was raining. The sky was almost black due to the grey clouds that were covering the sky.

“Looks like a storm.” Ron muttered.

“Awesome.” Harry said, feeling bad ass. “I haven’t seen rain in days.”

* * *

Voldemort sat in the stands, waiting for the game to begin. This was it. He would kill Harry today. As soon as he got that Snitch…

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams flew into the air. Voldemort looked for the little redhead that was Ginny Weasley, but, instead, he caught sight of someone totally different…

* * *

The Quaffles were released. The game had begun. Harry looked around, eyes searching for the Snitch. Nobody could catch that Snitch except for him. As the game wore on, Harry realized something: the Snitch was never released. And then –

“CRUCIO!” He heard a voice from below, and a red jet of energy flew past him, coming from somewhere directly below him.

* * *

Hermione was in the stands, explaining everything she knew to Neville and Ginny, when suddenly –

“CRUCIO!” Hermione suddenly turned towards the game. One Harry Potter was standing on the ground, casting the Cruciatus Curse up towards another Harry Potter who was on his broom.

“Oh my gosh!” Neville yelled. “Which one’s which?”

“The Harry on the broom is the real one!” Ginny answered.

“But Harry was in his school robes when Ron and I took him out of the magical trunk!” Hermione exclaimed.

“But I saw the _real_ Harry in the Gryffindor Tent!” Ginny exclaimed.

“I’M SO _CONFUSED_!” Neville yelled, going into hysterics. “I CAN’T TELL THEM APART!”

“I’ll make one younger so we can tell them apart!” Hermione yelled, pointing her wand at the Harry Potter on the broom. He suddenly went from almost seventeen to eleven.

“Great!” Neville exclaimed, calming himself. “Now is that the real one or the fake one?” He asked.

“I don’t know!” Hermione admitted, distressed.

Luna, appearing out of nowhere beside Hermione, pointed her wand at the Harry Potter on the ground and cast the same spell Hermione used on the Harry Potter in the air.

“I think _that_ one’s the fake Harry Potter.” Luna said.

Hermione and Neville stared at her.

“Why’d you make _him_ younger?” Hermione asked.

“Well if he’s trying to disguise himself as Harry Potter, he might as well do it to the very last detail, wouldn’t you say?”

Hermione facepalmed herself.

* * *

Harry looked down at Voldemort (who was disguised as him). If only he had his wand, he would be trying to Crucio his ass, too. But, his wand was with his robes – back in the Gryffindor Team’s tent.

Fuck.

Harry looked around. There had to be _something_ , _anything_ to keep Voldemort from at least trying to cast spells at him. Then he realized something – his _broom_! He could totally do his very first Wronski Feint and knock Voldemort’s wand out of his hand! That was it!

Harry locked his knees around his broom, and gripped his broom harder than he had ever gripped before. And then –

The rush was insane. It felt just like falling, yet you had more control. Harry was going so fast he could feel his face stretching. When he was about five six-and-a-half feet from the ground, Harry changed direction, and instead of heading towards the ground, headed straight for Voldemort.

But. There’s always a but.

Harry was a little off, and just missed him. Voldemort, trying to attack Harry and drag him to the ground, grabbed his leg. Harry, trying to shake Voldemort off (and not being able to stop due to the velocity he had just gained from doing a Wronski Feint), flew as high as he could – to the Astrology Tower.

* * *

Back at the stands, everyone watched the two Harry Potters leave, wondering what exactly what just happened. Hermione called Ron over, and he flew to her and landed in the stands.

“Which one was the real one?” She asked.

“The one on the broom.” Ron assured her. “He was with me up until…well…” He looked in the direction of the Tower.

“I knew it.” Hermione thought aloud.

“No you didn’t.” Luna said calmly. “You knew as much as Neville –” She motioned to Neville beside her, but he was entirely focused on something _else_ …

“SNAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” He shouted, pointing, finally finding his voice.

A large snake was slithering towards the group of friends. It was probably the largest snake any of them had ever seen. It was Nagini, Voldemort’s pet snake.

“Nagini!” Hermione squealed, terrified. “She must have been watching Voldemort the entire time!”

Ron looked at Hermione, confused.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” He asked.

But Hermione couldn’t answer, for Neville, still screaming, took out his wand.

“NO, NEVILLE! DON’T!” Hermione and Ron shouted. But it was way too late to try to stop Neville now…

“ _RIDDIKULUS! EXEPLLIARMUS! RICTUSEMPRA! LUMOS!_ ” Neville screamed on the top of his lungs; screamed as if he had never screamed before in his entire life.

Only one spell hit Nagini right between the eyes…

The great snake reeled backwards, temporarily blind and hissing. She squeezed her eyes shut, swinging her head from left to right, panicking. Suddenly something came into contact with Nagini’s mouth, and Nagini decided to attack it – whether it be friend or foe, she couldn’t tell. She opened her giant mouth and bit down as hard as she could onto the poor thing that had dared come close enough to her mouth: her tail. But Nagini was in such a state of confusion that she didn’t seem to notice it was her own flesh, and she began to devour herself. She was halfway through her own body before…

Neville stood, staring at Nagini. He just killed _Lord Voldemort’s_ snake! Wait. Correction: He just killed _Lord Voldemort’s_ snake with _Lumos_! He was _so_ winning the bad ass award for the year.

Apparently, everyone was staring at Nagini, too.

“What… How… What spell hit her?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Lumos.” Luna informed her (and all the other bystanders with the same question), talking as if she hadn’t just seen a giant snake devour half of its own body…

Suddenly, a loud, looming voice came from somewhere within the stands.

“Attention all students! Lord Voldemort is attacking! Everyone is to report to their Common Rooms _now_!” McGonagall’s voice boomed from where the teachers were sitting.

“Wait – shouldn’t that be Snape talking?” Hermione asked. “He _is_ Headmaster and all…”

“He must not be there…” Ron said slowly, and then they looked at each other. “It’s time for a Mission!” He whispered excitedly, and then running to the nearest exit.

“Oh, no…” Hermione said quietly, but following.

“Wait! I want to come too!” Neville yelled. “I killed a _snake_!” He exclaimed, following.

“Wait for me!” Ginny called, racing after the new bad ass of the group, remembering that Harry instructed her to stay with him.

“Me too!” Luna called, not wanting to be left behind, following the group.

* * *

Harry and Voldemort crashed onto the Astronomy tower. They both scrambled onto their feet – Harry was closest to the edge. This couldn’t end well.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry.

“It is time for you to _die_.” He smirked.

“No! I can’t die!” Harry cried out.

And now, we’re back to where we started.

The two Harry Potters were in a disagreement of all disagreements – discussing the real Harry’s death. As the thunder clapped in the distance and as the lightning flashed, you could see their silhouettes. The real Harry was in his Gryffindor Quidditch Robes, broom in hand – his eyes tore away from Voldemort to glance around just behind his head, searching the for the golden walnut that was the Snitch. But, after a moment, Harry’s eyes returned to Voldemort’s gaze of pure hatred. Voldemort was in Harry’s regular School Robes, wand in hand, ready to use any curse that came to his head at any moment. As he glared at Harry, he thought to use the Cruciatus Curse on him. Even though they were both much older, they both looked eleven years of age, due to Hermione and Luna’s spells.

“You’re WRONG!” Voldemort said, taking a swift step forward, sending Harry one step backwards, closer to the edge of the Astrology Tower.

“But I’m sure I’m –” Harry started, now entirely focused on Voldemort and not on his quest for the Snitch.

“NO! Don’t even say anything – you fool!” Voldemort shouted, raising his wand. Harry flinched in fear, as if he knew of Voldemort’s plans. “FIGHT! FIGHT! I COMMAND YOU!” He screamed, making a quick change of plans. “ _IMPERIO!”_ He shouted, pointing his wand at Harry. Harry raised his broom above his head, about to bash Voldemort’s head in with it. “FIGHT!” Voldemort shouted again, and with a swift move of his wand, the broom came down. Lower and lower, closer and closer to Voldemort’s head, until, suddenly –

“STOP!” There was a voice, and Voldemort’s focus on the curse was lost, and Harry stood motionless, his broom about a foot from Voldemort’s head. They both looked to the source of the voice they had heard – towards the door. There, in the doorway, was Severus Snape. He was on his knees, staring at the two, sobbing. Something appeared to be in his hands. He opened his cupped hands and Harry gasped audibly, as Voldemort just stared. The golden Snitch laid in his hands, both wings broken. Snape looked up at the two, his black eyes searching, looking like they could pierce through theirs. “What – what have I done?” He sobbed.

“ _You_ haven’t done _anything_ , Severus!” Screamed a voice from behind them. “This school was falling apart anyway!”

They all turned around.

There, sitting on a broom, dressed up in her finest Ravenclaw Quidditch Robes, was –

“CHO?!” Harry yelled, being the only one able to speak.

“That’s right; it’s me!” She exclaimed.

“Cho, you are my hero! Shit, if it wasn’t for you, this guy would’ve killed me!” Harry exclaimed, pointing towards Voldemort behind him. “Cho, can you come closer so we can get outta here?” He asked.

Cho smirked.

“Like I would help _you_.” She said in an “I’m-way-too-good-for-you-so-go-fuck-yourself” kind of way.

“But – but Cho!” Harry stuttered. “I thought you LOVED me! We HAD something together!” He exclaimed, confused.

“We didn’t have anything – I was just pulling you along.” She smirked at Harry’s completely baffled expression. “You really don’t get it, do you, Potter? Voldemort works for _me_ ; and he always has.”

“Voldemort’s been working for you?” Harry yelled in absolute disbelief. “How the fuck did that happen?” He asked.

“Oh, come on.” He heard Voldemort behind him. Harry turned and looked at him. He saw that Voldemort had now completely transformed back to his old self. Harry looked at himself. He didn’t look like he was eleven anymore… But still. “Look me in the eye and tell me you're not intimidated by how super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot she is. Also, she has what I want the very most…”

Harry looked back at Cho, then at Voldemort.

“Looks? Beauty? Style? Grace? Social status?” Harry tried to guess. “She has the Elder Wand, doesn’t she?” He turned and faced her. “Don’t you?” He accused.

“A what?” Cho asked, but before Harry could explain she waved him off. “Never mind. No, that’s not it. You see, _I_ have the key to immortality. And, obviously, judging from how many Horcruxes Voldemort has, he wanted this key as well. I have long searched for my equal, and I thought Voldemort could be it. Yet, after _failing_ so _epically_ to kill you as an infant, Potter, I needed to make sure that he was truly _worthy_ of it. So, I decided he had to finish the job in order to redeem himself. What we had was basically just a taunt, me saying to Voldemort, ‘Maybe this one is truly worthy of me and my power, and you're not, seeing as he defeated you.’ It got him to hurry the hell up in his attempts to kill you, in any case. But now...I think you really might be worthy. Because...” She looked at Voldemort. “Voldemort, you're an overdramatic bitch.” She looked back at Harry while Voldemort was spluttering in disbelief. “We could always try again, Harry Potter. Do you want to become immortal with me? You seem worthy enough…”

“What!?” Voldemort yelled. “You’re – you’re betraying me?!”

“Shut up!” She ordered him. “You’ve lost your chance for immortality! And to save your ass from the press…” She smirked.

“What?!” Voldemort yelled in utter disbelief behind Harry. Harry turned around. “But… Look!” He pointed at Harry. “I’ve got Potter right here!”

“I _asked_ you to _kill_ him.” Cho informed him. “You never did. You only dragged him here, to me. That was _not_ what I asked, Voldemort…” She looked back at Harry. “What do you say?” She asked, smiling.

“You know, the thing is, I might have, before I knew you were such a total bitch.” Harry informed her.

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I thought so. You're such a noble fool, Potter. It's a good thing I plan ahead…” She stared straight at Voldemort as she said this. “…because I have in mind someone who seems simply…perfect.” She reached inside her inside pocket and pulled out none other than – a shoe.

“Malfoy’s shoes!” Voldemort exclaimed.

“That’s right.” She smiled. “Perhaps _he’s_ worthy of immortality…”

“Did you offer the same thing to Cedric, then?” Harry asked, half-accusing despite still being utterly confused.

Cho laughed.

“Oh, no, I never even considered it. Sometimes, a woman just has needs.” She shrugged.

“So…he was just…” Harry struggled for words.

“A toy? Yes. But he didn't comprehend that…" Cho's expression turned nasty, then. “That fool tried to break up with _me_ the morning of the third task. I just had to have a brief meeting with Voldemort and then ventured into the maze to make sure you both ended up in the graveyard, and then…” She winked. “Poof.” She laughed coldly. "Doesn't that ease your guilt, widdle Harry?" she asked, sounding a lot like Bellatrix Lestrange. “It wasn't your nobility that got Cedric killed after all. It was my, let's call it...influence.” She put the shoe back and pulled something _else_ out of the pocket of her robes – her wand. She pointed it at Harry.

“Wait – what are you doing?” Harry asked, staring at the wand.

“Don’t you get it?” She asked, as if she couldn’t be bothered to explain it. “I've kept a low profile for over a hundred years -”

“You're over a hundred years old?!” Harry interrupted. It sounded like he was choking.

“Yes, idiot boy, what part of 'immortal' did you not comprehend? And since I –”

“But I've seen you _grow_! You were _tiny_ when I first got here!”

Cho heaved an exasperated sigh. “You don't get to be a 137-year-old witch without learning some complicated magic. But, you see, nobody else knows these things about me, and I don't want them to. You don't want to join me in immortality.” She turned to Voldemort. “And you, with all your ridiculous schemes to kill the Potter boy... Messing with a Triwizard Tournament just to get at him? Using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him? To what end? And just now, instead of killing him straight off, you insisted that he fight you. You're an idiot, and you fail to understand the value of simply _Avada Kedavra_ 'ing your obstacles.”

“But – but –” Voldemort actually looked like he was about to cry. Harry stared.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Cho said. She drew herself up. “ _You're both gonna die_. Starting with you –” She raised her wand, aiming at Harry. “ _Avada_ –”

“ _STUPEFY_!” Came a voice from behind Snape, as Neville Longbottom entered the scene. Harry looked back at Neville, and then at Cho. He had knocked her off her broom and they were both falling down…

Voldemort turned towards Neville.

“You mother _fucker_!” He screamed. He pointed his wand at him. “ _Avada_ –”

“ _STUPEFY_!” Neville screamed again, sending Voldemort backwards, crashing into the wall and knocking himself unconscious.

“Neville!” Harry yelled “That was the most bad ass thing I’ve ever seen you do!”

“That’s not even _half_ of it! I killed a _snake_ , Harry!” Neville exclaimed, extremely proud of himself. “With _Lumos_!”

“Good for you, buddy!” Harry congratulated him, high-fiving him. Behind a still-sobbing Snape, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny all appeared. “Guys!” He ran towards them and hugged the closest person – which evidently was Luna. “It was Cho! All along! Well, not ALL along, but just recently! And SHE had Malfoy’s shoes, too! She had a CRUSH on him!” He exclaimed, trying to squeeze every last detail into what he was saying.

Hermione laughed, shutting him up.

“We can tell each other what parts of the story we missed _later_. But, as for right now, we might want to get Cho to Azkaban for being an evil mastermind that’s been using Voldemort as a puppet…”

Snape, who suddenly realized that the fact that he broke the Snitch didn’t really put the school in any danger at all, stood.

“I will call the Minister.” He decided, sniveling. And they all left the Astronomy tower.


	15. Sunday

The Ministry Of Magic made their trip to Hogwarts, but only one person was arrested and brought to Azkaban. Voldemort was being watched over by over half the staff, but with one yell of “ _CRUCIO_!” and one killing curse that just missed McGonagall’s head, Voldemort was gone. But at least they got Cho…

* * *

That morning, on the way from the Boys Dormitory to the exit of the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry saw Ginny walking ahead of him.

“Hey, Ginny?” Harry called, increasing his pace to catch up to her.

“Yeah?” Ginny asked, turning.

“You know how I was trapped in that magical trunk for almost a week?” He asked. “And if my existence didn’t keep the story going I would have died?”

“Yeah, you told me last night.” Ginny nodded.

“Well…being trapped in a trunk made me realize something. I mean, I’ve realized it for a while…but being in that trunk made me realize that life is really short and unexpected, so if I have something to say, I should say it before I get thrown into another trunk again… I…I like you, Ginny. A lot. And…I was wondering if…”

“YES!” Ginny yelled, jumping into Harry’s arms. Harry hugged her back, and then they kissed.

Together, they walked down to the Great Hall.

When they got there, they found Ron and Hermione and sat together, across from them. Ron was looking at the Daily Prophet.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron asked. “Have you seen this?” He passed the paper to Harry, pointing at the front page. The heading said: Voldemort’s Epic Fail x2: Another Infant Survived Voldemort’s Killing curse.  There was a picture of a little blonde girl just under the headline. Harry read the first few sentences. “We all know the story of Voldemort failing to kill Harry Potter when he was only one year of age, but according to a Miss Cho Chang (who is now in Azkaban; see her story on page 5), there was yet _another_ infant who Voldemort failed to kill. Hillary Duff, age seven, has also survived the curse when she was only three months old. She, unlike Harry Potter, lives in America, and has not been to any sort of Wizarding school. She also has no scar of any sort from the failed attempt to kill her, as Harry has his legendary lightning bolt on his forehead. When our reporters went to her to ask of what she can tell us about that night, she promptly slammed the door in our faces, screaming that ‘no one could possibly remember anything from being three months old.’…”

“Wow.” Harry whispered. “She survived the curse, too? And with no scar? She must be…like…a really loved person…” He looked at her picture, wondering who could love her that much to deflect a killing curse… “I’d love to meet her…I’d finally have someone who knows how I feel…”

“Pervert,” He heard a voice behind him. Draco Malfoy was looking at the paper over Harry’s shoulder. And then, slightly embarrassed, he walked off. Harry looked at his shoes. He wasn’t dancing insanely, and he didn’t look like he was a mess anymore… The Ministry must have confiscated his shoes from Cho and returned them…

“Well…” Ron started, taking the paper back. “This was a crazy 2 weeks, wasn’t it?” He laughed quietly.

“Yeah. It was.” Harry agreed, laughing a bit himself.

“And we owe it all to Sara Watson.” Hermione said, nodding to herself and also laughing. “Well, most of it to J.K. Rowling. But we owe these two weeks to Sara Watson.”

“Who?” Ron asked, confused.

“The person who wrote this.” Harry informed him. “And the person who wrote us.”

“Who?” Ron asked again, still utterly and undeniably confused.

“Ugh, never mind, Ron…” Hermione sighed. He was never going to understand, anyway…

Harry, smiling, glanced up to the ceiling, as if something up there caught his eye. There, he saw a little pale blue ball with small wings and limbs sprouting out from it. A Blibbering Humdinger.

“They do exist…” He whispered to himself, so lowly that only he and one other person could hear him…

“You see them too?” Luna asked, squeezing in next to him, on his other side. “You know, they’ve been living up there since the school was made…”

With a sudden insight, Harry remembered that nothing had happened when the snitch broke... Blibbering Humbingers had been there since the school was made, huh?

“Really, Luna?” Harry asked, genuinely interested. “Please, tell me more. I want to know all about the Blibbering Humbingers…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I also wrote a sequel to this (not as good as the original, but what sequels are? Besides Shrek 2, I mean.), which is a Harry Potter/Doctor Who/Twilight Crossover, so if ANYONE wants to read that please comment and I'll start posting that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed a look into my mind at 16 years of age, and honestly if you made it this far you deserve some sort of medal.
> 
> PS - if you're also reading my hungerlock fic, trust me I'm still working on it. If you're not also reading my hungerlock fic, It's so much better than whatever the hell you just read. XD


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